Fortunately for me, I’m more pissed off than turned on right now, so it’s easy to ignore. Mostly. But I do put a pin in that for later, when I’m not at risk of doing something stupid and irreversible all on account of spite. I save it under “Shit Waylon Does To Drive Me Insane,” and make a mental note to revisit all the ways that I can drive him insane in return.

I tsk. “Always so damn grumpy. Didn’t you ever hear that saying, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?”

He scowls. His voice is low and deep when he says in return, “Didn’t you ever hear about this thing called personal space?”

I hum, pretending to think. “Can’t recall. Remind me again?”

He scoffs and tries to pull back. He doesn’t get far.

“We tried it your way,” I say softly, ducking my head to follow his gaze. “I’ve played by your rules since the second I rode into town. Before you even knew I was back, I was already catering to you.” I pause. “But I’m done.”

He stiffens.

“We need to talk about it. I know it hurts. You think it doesn’t kill me too? Especially now, after learning the truth? After what you told me upstairs?” I shake my head and smile through the tears cresting my vision. “I’d love nothing fucking more than to forget. But more than that? I wish I could go back and prevent any of it from happening to you in the first place.”

His eyes glisten.

“It’s a little insane, isn’t it?” I say quietly. “How I’m still holding on to this-this thing after all this time, when...God, Way, we were just kids. What the hell did we know?” I huff out a humorless laugh. “What happened shouldn’t have this much power over me anymore—over either of us. Because, babe, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not fooling anyone here.”

He chokes down on what sounds like a sob, and a little piece of me dies. I hate doing this to him.

“Friendships fall apart all the time, man,” I say gruffly. My fingers dig into his knees as if they’ve a mind of their own. “Why is this different? Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” I all but growl.

“I don’t know,” he whispers shakily. Murmured like a prayer. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know—”

I drop my forehead to his. He sucks in a sharp breath that I feel gust over my cold lips.

“You know,” I say thickly, “I was terrified to get close to anyone again for years after you. I mean, sure, I had friends back in Philly, but it was never the same. The rose-tinted glasses had been shattered and there was no going back for me.”