Home > His Wicked Games (His Wicked Games #1)(46)

His Wicked Games (His Wicked Games #1)(46)
Author: Ember Casey

"Wait," I say. This is the closest he’s come to opening up to me since I’ve been here. "Don't you—I mean, it is important, you know. You're clearly upset about selling him. I don't mind if you talk about it."

He pauses, but when he turns back toward me his face is carefully blank.

"It doesn't really matter. Honestly. I've only ridden him a handful of times in the past few years. He's better off at his new home."

"I don't believe that. It's obvious you loved him. And you're here now. You could spend time with him again."

Calder's eyes are cold. "I told you, I don't want to talk about it."

He turns and starts down the path once more, but I catch up with him quickly.

"Well maybe you need to talk about it," I say. "He was important to you."

He stops and turns on me. "What do you know about any of it?"

His glare is deadly, but I won't let him intimidate me. I meet his gaze without flinching.

"I know you have a lot of pain in you," I say. I know I’m treading on dangerous ground, but I press on anyway. "I know you're having a hard time dealing with your father's death. Your sister's on the other side of the world, your horse is gone. The only other person I've seen in this place is Martin, but unless I'm missing something, I don't think you're talking to him about any of this. You shouldn't keep these feelings bottled up. They'll eat you alive."

"Are you my therapist now?" he demands. "What, we fuck for a couple of days and suddenly you think you can see into my soul or something?"

I stagger back, feeling like he's slapped me across the face. But he’s not done.

“You expect me to open up to you,” he says, raking his hand through his hair, “but you’re in such denial about your own baggage that you don’t even realize that you’re the one pushing away. That ex sure screwed you up something good.”

“I was only trying to help,” I murmur.

“You’re not helping. What part of that don’t you understand? We had some fun, that’s it. I don’t care about your life story, and I’m definitely not interested in sharing mine.”

“Which is it, then?” I snap. “You’re either pissed that I pushed you away or you’re pissed that I dared to show you some concern. You can’t have it both ways!”

“But you can? One minute you’re upset that I won’t talk about my father, and the next you’re upset that I’ve presumed to ask you about your ex. You expect me to open up to you, but I’ll be damned if you’ve shown me even a hint of what’s going on in your own head.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’ve tried, time and again, to talk to you about the Center, and—”

“Ah, the Center! ‘Center, Center, Center,’ every five minutes. The Center’s just an excuse. Can’t you see that?”

“An excuse? For what?”

“For everything! You’ve buried yourself in this little mission of yours so you don’t have to think about how you really feel or what you really want.”

“So you’re the therapist now? You have no idea what I want.”

“Neither do you, apparently.”

After all my tumultuous feelings of the past few days, those words are the final straw.

"Forget it," I say. "Fuck it. I'm leaving. Fuck you, fuck this house, fuck the floods. I'm going home, and I don't care if I have to swim there." I turn and storm up the path, back toward the door. I'll run in and grab my purse, and then I plan on getting as far away from this place as I can.

But just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the universe decides to screw with me some more. I charge around the corner of the house, and I almost have an aneurysm when I see who’s standing at the base of the steps.

There, right next to one of those ridiculous stone lions, is Garrett.

He looks up and sees me before my brain can even begin to make sense of the situation.

"Lils," he says, coming toward me. "Thank God."

It's too much. It's all too much.

"What are you doing here?" I say. "What the hell, Garrett?"

"I was worried about you," he says. He reaches me just as Calder comes around the corner.

"Lily. Forgive me, I didn't mean—"

He comes to a complete standstill when he sees Garrett standing next to me.

"Who the hell are you?" Calder says. His eyes flick between Garrett and me. "What the hell is going on here?"

I glance back at my ex. "That's what I want to know."

Garrett's blue eyes are blazing, and the corners of his mouth are tight. I know this look. He's furious. But this time his anger isn't directed at me. One glance at Calder and I know I need to do something—fast—before I end up in the middle of a fistfight.

"What are you doing here, Garrett?" I say. "I never told you where I was. I didn't tell anyone, not even Dad."

He still won't look at me. His eyes are locked on the master of the house.

“You wouldn’t answer my calls,” he says.

“I had nothing else to say to you. My dad would have given you all the information you needed.”

“I was worried, babe.” He moves toward me, but I step back.

“You haven’t answered my question,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought something had happened to you. I know you, Lils. I knew you were up to something, and you wouldn’t tell anyone where you were. For all I knew, you’d been kidnapped or something.” His eyes narrow at Calder.

“That’s the stupidest excuse I’ve ever heard,” I say. “And that doesn’t explain how you found me.”

"The phone company can track your cell," he says, his eyes still fixed on the man behind me. "You gave me your password, remember?"

I can only gape at him. I knew Garrett was crazy, but this is a whole new level of creepy.

"That was a year ago!" I say. "Did you seriously track me out here? What's wrong with you?"

“I told you, I was worried about your safety. Especially when I looked up the coordinates. If you’d told me, I’d have—”

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just didn't want to talk to you?”

From the stunned expression on his face, I don't think it has.

It's taking all of my self-restraint not to punch him. I open my mouth to argue, but suddenly Calder stands between us, holding me back with one arm as he focuses his dark eyes on Garrett.

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