His face remains stoic and the line of his shoulders rigid. “You never tried to contact me.”
Not a question. A cold statement.
It’s so ridiculous I can’t help but laugh right in his face. Or chest.
“And how exactly was I supposed to do that?” I snort. “It’s not like you exactly left a forwarding address when you left.”
Or even really said goodbye.
He pointedly ignores that. “How long have you been working here?” His lip curls up at the mention of the bar. Maybe he’s forgotten where he came from, his tastes more expensive now.
“A few years,” I answer again. “Kevin gave me a job when I was going to school.” He overlooked the fact that I wasn’t yet twenty-one and hired me anyway.
“You’re in school?”
Dodging that one.“What are you doing here?” I ask, the fact that I’m standing here, talking to Reid, still not fully sinking in.
He looks off down the alley and swallows, the bulge in his throat working with the movement. Dark stubble covers his neck, giving him a slightly messy look that still somehow works for him. “I work out at the gym down the street. Figured I’d stop by for a drink before heading home.”
“Unemployment boring for you?” The question is out before I can stop it. Heat rushes to my cheeks as Reid swivels his eyes back on me. One brow raises in what I’d like to be amusement but I think is actually annoyance. That was rude, but I don’t really feel like apologizing.
“Well I guess that answers if you’ve kept up with me at all,” he deadpans.
It’s hard not to. Whisper Me Nothings breakup news was plastered everywhere last year. Even if I didn’t search him on the internet a few times a year, I still would’ve heard about it. I tell myself that it’s just to check in and make sure that he’s alright, but it was unhealthy those few first years after he left.
Once I started seeing him photographed with multiple girls at clubs on a regular basis, I scaled it back.
“It’s not like I ever had to look very hard,” I say. “Your face has kinda been everywhere the past ten years.”
A solemn look flashes on the harsh plains of his face but is gone in a blink. “Do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
He nods to the guitar. “Play.”
“Yeah, Kevin lets me do it a few times a week once I’m done with my shift.”
“Hmm.” He hums and crosses his arms across his broad chest. There’s a tone to it that raises my hackles.
“What?” Is he about to critique my technique? My vocals? I’m nowhere near the musical talent he’s probably used to, but I’m decent enough for being mostly self-taught.Once he left and couldn’t continue to teach me.
“It’s just convenient.”
I blink. “What’s convenient?”
“You, that.” He nods to the guitar again. “Living in this city now.”
“What exactly are you trying to ask me?” I say, tone covered in ice to match his.
“I’m asking why exactly you moved to the same city you clearly knew I lived in, and if you played tonight because you wanted to try to impress me and get in with some of my connections, which I’m sure you are well aware I have.”
My jaw goes slack at his audacity. Is he serious?
By the hardness on his face, I’d say yes, he is.
And he’s also a fucking asshole.
He thinks that I’m still that same, poor, sad, foster sister that he had to feed and help with her homework and now that he’s famous, I’ve been searching for him to cash in on a little bit of his success. Fire burns at the back of my throat at the implication, and I can’t believe I ever hoped I’d one day run into him again. Held out hope that maybe I’d still have some semblance of a family that I never had.
