“Everything about you matters to me. I don’t think you get that.”

Whitney looks up, her eyes still shiny from the tears. “Is that your new game? Make me feel like I’m worth something to you now?” She looks away, and I hate that she thinks it’s a ploy.

“You’ve always been worth your weight in gold, Whitney.” I say her name because I know it’ll get her attention. “Now, tell me who hit you.”

Her chin juts out, and I recognize the stubbornness I remember.

“It’s been taken care of.”

“If he’s not six feet under, he hasn’t been taken care of. No man hits a woman. Give me a name.”

“I handled it. I’m a big girl now. I take care of my business. I don’t need you or your money. You still can’t buy me, Lincoln.”

I remember the last time she told me that, and it hits hard. “You’re right. Because you were fucking priceless then, and I didn’t realize it until it was too late.”

Whitney looks away, and I hope it’s because she doesn’t want me to see how the truth affects her.

“I’m not having this conversation. Not now. Not ever. We can’t go back. We can’t change the past. It’s time to move on.” She charges for the futon, but the shower curtain is stuck under my foot, and stays stuck.

The pink material shreds, and Whitney’s mouth drops open. She wraps her arms around herself and rushes toward her towel, but not before I see every curve of her body.

Fucking Christ.

Whitney Gable is even more devastating now than she was ten years ago. Rounder hips. Fuller tits. Every single inch is perfection.

The dumbest thing I ever did was give her a reason to walk away from me and marry Ricky Rango.

I may not be able to change the past, but I can sure as hell make sure it doesn’t repeat itself.

Thirty-Four

Whitney

The past

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Everyone’s staring.” I whispered the words, sure Lincoln could barely hear me over the gasps coming from around us.

“Ignore them. Act like they don’t exist.”

That was easy for him to say. Lincoln had probably never felt out of place in his life. He walked into Table like he owned it.

Oh, wait, he did. Or at least, his family did. It was the fanciest restaurant in town and located in The Gables.

I must have been insane to say yes.

I tugged my best dress down further to cover more of my thighs. I hadn’t realized it was a little shorter than the last time I wore it—to my senior prom that Ricky had come home for and stayed two hours before he left.

I hadn’t told Lincoln yet, but Ricky kept calling and texting. He even sent me a freaking handwritten letter with a love song he wrote. But Ricky’s a half-assed songwriter at his best, and I couldn’t stop myself from fixing the chorus, bridge, and two and a half of the three verses before sending it back to him.