Page 8 of Meant for You

He did not look amused. “Everly…”

“Why do you think?” I fired at him. “I missed you—is that what you want to hear? You’d been my constant for three years, then my aunt came and I didn’t have you anymore. It was the only way I knew how to be close to you.”

He was quiet for a long time, then he made a rough sound in the back of his throat and moved closer. I couldn’t make myself move away, or run, or back up, not when my heart and head were battling so hard against each other.

“Eves,” he whispered.

“Are you going to keep sleeping against my door until I talk to you?”

“Yeah,” he rasped and moved closer still.

My lips started quivering and I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t stop him, or force him back, because this was Dane. My Dane. Tears filled my eyes and spilled over without my say-so as he closed the gap between us and tugged me into his arms.

No, I didn’t fight it. I couldn’t.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he said against the top of my head, his face buried in my hair. “So fucking much.”

He felt different, but he smelled the same. I wriggled closer. “You hurt me,” I whispered.

“I know. And I’m going to try and explain, if you’ll let me?”

“If I don’t, you’ll just keep showing up, right?” If I knew anything about Dane it was that he was persistent when he wanted to be, single-minded, determined. If I didn’t agree to this, he’d just sleep at my door until I relented.

“Right,” he said.

I lifted my head, looking up at him. “Okay. We can talk…tonight.”

He smiled and my heart, the traitorous sap, melted.

* * *

We decided to meet at The Thirsty Mule to have our “talk.” Dane had suggested his place, but I wanted somewhere public where the conversation couldn’t get too intense. I didn’t want to cry again, and there was a real possibility of it happening if we were alone.

I had that annoying trait of crying when I was feeling any strong emotion, including anger—which had made living with my emotionally deficient aunt even harder. I had a feeling Dane would make me angry again before the night was over, and if I had an audience, I might be able to hold myself together.

He’d also offered to pick me up, another suggestion I’d refused because, depending on how much he annoyed me, I might want to get the heck out of there in a hurry, and I didn’t want to be in the position of telling him to stick his apology, then get trapped with him in his truck while I fumed and cried uncontrollably all the way home.

I pulled up in my green Toyota Camry right across from the bar, behind Dane’s bike, and sat there for a moment gathering my composure. I wanted to hear him out. I wanted him to tell me something that would take this pain away, that would give us back what we had. But I wasn’t sure there was anything he could say that could ease that awful, hollow feeling of being left behind by him.

My phone started ringing, and I quickly checked it. Aunt Julia. She called several times a week, and lately her favorite topic of conversation was when I was coming home to visit. I’d been home a month ago and wasn’t in any rush to go back, not this soon anyway.

Things had always been strained between us, but the massive argument we’d had the day before I left her ranch—after she found the phone Dane had given me years before and she’d spent hours reading our messages—had been the final straw.

The tension between us had been unbearable, and it was the push I’d needed to take that step to accept Cassy’s job offer.

Guilt shot through me when I let her call go to voice mail and put my phone on silent. I couldn’t deal with her. Not tonight.

Shoving my door open, I climbed out and headed across the street. Even though I knew Dane wouldn’t notice what I was wearing, I’d taken extra care getting ready. He needed to know I wasn’t the same girl he’d been protecting for so long, that I was a woman who made her own decisions.

My ankle boots had a spiked heel and I’d paired them with a cute black skirt that was light and floaty. I liked the way it swayed as I walked. It was a hot night, so the red tank with spaghetti-string straps was perfectly acceptable, especially for a bar.

I felt confident. Ready for the emotional game of badminton Dane and I were about to have. Determined to protect myself, keep my guard up.

Music floated out, and through the windows I could see the place was fairly busy. I’d never walked into a bar on my own before, even though I’d hit the legal drinking age close to a year ago. Before moving here, I’d never touched a drop of alcohol. My aunt would never have allowed that. I’d been expected to follow her rules, which meant I hadn’t done a lot of the things other teenagers had been doing.

When my friends had been talking about their boyfriends and what they got up to in the back seats of their cars, I’d had nothing to contribute to the conversations, not until a few years later, and I’d felt like a total freak.

I’d kind of just hung out with my horses. I’d only ever been permitted to go on one date when I was asked by our pastor’s son, Clayton.