Текст книги "Never Say Never"

Автор книги: Emily Goodwin

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter 5

My phone rings, waking me from a dead sleep. I reach for it, realize that it’s seven thirty a.m. on Saturday morning, and panic. Then I see it’s Mr. Weebly, and that panic turns into anger. What the fuck? I was actually trying to sleep in today. I fed the horses late last night just so I could get an extra two hours in before they needed breakfast. My finger hovers over the red “decline” circle on the screen of my phone.

I answer at the last minute, curious to why he’s calling me on my day off. “Hello?” I mumble.

“Haley!” he exclaims. “Are you awake?”

“I am now.” I push up on my elbows and run my hand through my messy hair.

“Great! You’re never gonna guess what I got for you!”

A way to fall back asleep and give me back the lost time you’re taking from me? “What?”

“Aiden Shepherd.”

The image of the handsome actor flashes through my mind. I know him from Shadowland, one of my favorite shows. He was recently in a Batman movie that I intended on seeing, not because I was a huge Batman fan, but because I wanted to look at his face—and his abs. He was often shirtless. Tall, muscular, with wavy dark hair and deep eyes, Aiden rightly earned the title of this year’s sexiest actor. According to GQ, that is. I whole-heartedly agree.

“You got him for me?” I blurt, too tired to think logically.

“Not really,” he laughs. “I got you an interview with him.”

I sit up. Me, interviewing Aiden fucking Shepherd. Am I still dreaming? “What?”

“An interview,” he repeats.

“Over the phone, right?”

“No, in person…and it’s in two hours.”

All I can think about is Aiden’s glorious performance in the season finale of Shadowland. His character was left hanging, and I mean literally. It upset me for days, not knowing if Gavin was dead or alive. Oh my God! I could ask him!

“Wait,” I stammer as the rest of Weebly’s words hit me. “Two hours?”

“Yeah. The Billings Post had something set up but had to cancel at the last minute. Aiden’s people said we could take the slot. I’ve been asking for weeks.” Weeks? Was I missing something? Why was Aiden here? “I know you’re new, kid,” he says. “But you’re the pretty—you’re the best for the interview. Can you get to Lily’s Café in Billings by nine thirty?”

“Yes,” I say, because I want this interview. If I rock it, maybe I’ll be able to pick my next topic to write about. “I can.”

“Great. I emailed you a list of questions to go off of. Let me know how it goes. This is going to be great for our press!”

I hang up and swing my legs over the bed, thinking of all the times I’ve fangirled over Aiden. And then the panic sets in. I haven’t watched TV, haven’t spent countless hours on Tumblr looking at GIFs of him taking off his shirt, smiling, or seductively raising one eyebrow like I used to. I’ve lost touch with the world over the last couple months. Getting up and out of bed is enough of a feat for me. I haven’t even thought about keeping up with TV or celebrity gossip.

Then I look at the clock. Lily’s Café is in Billings, which is almost an hour drive. Fuck. I need to get dressed, let Chrissy out, feed the horses, and leave in under an hour. That’s not going to work. I stand up but don’t move, even though I should be running. Where do I start? I don’t have time to shower.

Fuck. My heart starts to race. Clothes, Haley. Put on some clothes. I stumble toward the closet, flicking on the light. Nothing I have is good enough, and I have no idea what to wear. Lily’s Café is a hip, modern coffee house with indie bands playing on weekends and locally painted (and expensive) art always for sale and hanging on the walls. Do I need to dress up in business attire since this is work? Or can I get away with something more casual?

I still haven’t bulked up my wardrobe to what it should be. I have all my clothes from college, which means an endless supply of jeans, yoga pants, hooded sweatshirts, and comfy t-shirts. I have my “bar clothes” that I wouldn’t dare wear anymore with the burns on my shoulder and my side, stretching from my ribs down to my hip. And the majority of my closet if filled with barn jeans, breaches, and shirts with horses printed on the front. Nothing appropriated to wear when talking to Aiden. Finally, I decide on a blue dress, and a gray sweater to go over it, despite the heat. I need to cover up the burn scars somehow. I plug in my straight iron and brush my teeth, forgoing breakfast.

I spend way too much time doing my makeup and have to rush like a mad woman to throw hay into each horse’s stall.

“I’ll let you all out as soon as I’m home,” I promise and quickly dish up their oats. I crush Phoenix’s medication and mix it in applesauce before dumping it in her bowl. I run up the gravel drive, trade my cowboy boots for heels, and speed off. I call Lori on the way, feeling only a little bit bad for waking her up. I need details on Aiden. She reads me stats and fills me in on his new movie that he’s filming in a small town outside of Billings. He’s been there for a few weeks, apparently, and I’d been too distracted to take notice.

My nerves start to die as I pull into the parking lot of Lily’s Café. Last year, I’d have given an arm and a leg to have the chance to just look into Aiden Shepherd’s eyes. Now I’m about to be sitting down with him, one on one, and asking him questions. With everything that’s changed, it doesn’t seem important anymore, and I find myself trying hard to care about Hollywood and movies and people who make a shit ton of money by playing a part. Playing.

I park my Jeep and get out, doing a quick check in the mirror. I haven’t worn this much makeup in months. I haven’t had the drive to put effort into my appearance. I have natural beauty—according to Mom, that is. I push the straps of Lori’s black leather purse onto my shoulder. I might as well call this bag mine now; I’ve had it long enough. She probably doesn’t miss it. She owns more handbags and purses than anyone I know.

I slow when I get to the glass door, trying to look inside and locate Aiden before going in. He’s sitting at a table in the back, reading with his head down. A man in a black suit stands near the table. Really, he has a bodyguard with him in Billings?

I notice the group of high-school-aged girls gathered at a table next to him, heads together, giggling as they steal looks and snap selfies with him in the background. Oh. The bodyguard makes sense. He wasn’t worried about being mugged; he was worried about the fangirls.

I pull my shoulders back and open the door. A little bell chimes, and Aiden looks up. His eyes meet mine, and my breath catches in my chest, the air leaving me. I can’t breathe. He’s gorgeous, just like I imagined. Strong jaw, defined cheeks, dark hair falling messily in his face in a way that could only look that sexy on him. But I am hit with how real he looks too. The book he’s holding has a bent cover. Crumbs speckle the table in front of him, and a cup of coffee is pushed to the side. Faint purple circles hang under his brown eyes.

The door shuts behind me and the bell chimes again. Everything hits me at once. The chatter of the packed Café. The smell of coffee. The air from the vent above me, blowing my hair back.

And his eyes, locked with mine.

I need to move, need to pick one foot up and put it in front of the other. But I can’t seem to, and when I finally scoot my stupid foot forward, the heel of my shoe catches on the rug. I stumble but don’t fall. Blood rushes to my cheeks. Way to go, Haley. What a good first impression.

I push my hair out of my eyes and look back up. Aiden is standing, lips parted ever so slightly as he looks at me with one hand out. Is he going to come help me?

I cast my eyes down and see him sink back into his seat. Okay…this is awkward. Should I order a drink first? No, that would be even weirder to just stand in line with my back to him. I mean, it’s not like I can pretend I didn’t see him. We shared that…that…I don’t know, really. A moment?

He looks back at his book and I cross the room, heels clicking softly on the dull hardwood floor. The bodyguard stiffens when he sees me. He sidesteps in front of Aiden. I reach into my purse to pull out my work ID badge.

“Hi,” I start. “I’m here for the interview.”

“You’re Parker?” the bodyguard asks. His voice is as gruff as his stubble-covered face.

“Haley Parker,” I say and show him my ID. He raises an eyebrow, looks me over, and steps aside. Aiden puts his book on the table and looks up at me.

Something flutters through me as our eyes meet again. My throat goes dry and I don’t know what to say. Turning and running seems like a good idea right now. My nerves aren’t coming from meeting my celebrity crush. They’re coming from the way Aiden is looking at me. It’s like he’s seeing me—the real me—and I’m naked in front of the crowd. His eyebrows push together, and for a brief second I see the same look in his chocolate eyes.

“Hi,” I finally croak out. He waves his hand at the seat in front of him. “I’m Haley Parker from the Yellowstone River Times.”

“Hi, Haley Parker from the Yellowstone River Times,” he says back with a slight smile. Holy crap, that British accent. I set my purse on the chair next to me, and my sweater slips off my shoulder, exposing the burn scars. I panic, yanking it back up so fast my hand slips off and my knuckles whack the edge of the table. Pain sears through my fingers, and embarrassment burns on my face. “Suddenly get a chill?” he asks.

“Something like that,” I mumble, wishing I could shrivel up and crawl out of here.

He leans forward, head tipped to the side. “You’ve got something,” he starts and reaches out. His fingers brush my hair, running through the length. “Right here.” He pulls a piece of hay loose and holds it out.

“Oh.” I snatch it from him. Seriously? Oh my God, no. I shove the hay into my purse. “Sorry.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t have to be sorry, but now I’m curious. Why do you have straw in your hair?”

“It’s hay,” I automatically correct. “And I fed my horses right before I came here. I won’t lie; my boss set this up super last minute. I didn’t know about it until like two hours ago.” Why were the words spilling from my mouth so easily?

“You have horses?” he asks, seeming interested.

“I do. Four right now.”

“Right now?”

I smile, my racing heart settling back into my chest. “I, uh, rescue and retrain horses.” Or I did. Mom did.

“You don’t sound too sure about that,” he laughs.

I flick my eyes down. You will not cry, you will not cry. “It’s been a weird couple of months,” I offer as an explanation. “But yes, I do rescue horses. I have two permanent residents at my barn and two that will eventually get new homes. I hope, at least.”

“Interesting. How do you rescue horses? Are there that many that need saving?”

“More than you’d think.”

“So do people drop them off like an animal shelter?”

I shake my head. “We—I—usually go get them and bring them home. Reports come in about abused or neglected horses. I like taking in the worst cases, the ones others gave up on.”

“Why would you do that?”

I fold my hands in my lap. “I think every life is worth saving. It’s easy to give up when no one is fighting for you. When you have no one, when nobody cares about you or loves you, why keep going? That’s what I give these horses. Hope, someone who knows they are worth it. I give them a second chance.”

He looks at me, and I see sadness in his eyes, like my words are hitting him too close to home. “Doesn’t that get depressing?”

“Yes,” I say honestly. “And not everyone makes it. But I give them a chance, and everyone deserves a chance.”

“You speak of them like people,” he says softly. We’re still looking at each other, his dark eyes locked with mine.

“Sometimes I think they are better than people.”

He leans toward me. “You’re probably right.”

“I am.”

He slides his hand forward on the table, still looking into my eyes. A few seconds pass and we stay just like that. He pulls his hand back and smiles. “So you’re a pretty good rider then, right?”

“I’d say so. I’ve been riding since I was two.”

“Damn. That’s impressive.”

I shrug. “I guess. It’s just been my life. Yours is acting, mine is horses.”

“Horses, but you’re a journalist.”

His words are like a sucker punch to the gut. I tip my head down, breaking eye contact. “Yeah. Things didn’t quite work out like I thought.”

“That tends to happen,” he said quietly. I flick my eyes up. What does he know about things not working out? He is one of the hottest actors in Hollywood right now, is filming an adaptation of a book that spent weeks on the New York Times Bestsellers list, and makes more from one episode of Shadowland than I will in ten years. And he’s only twenty-four. “So, what’s the worst you’ve seen? Who was your most hopeless horse?”

The worst? The worst I’ve seen was Phoenix, her mane ablaze as she was led out of the burning barn by my mother. My scars tingle and I can smell the smoke, feel the fire melting my flesh off my body. Tears fill my eyes, and I don’t know what to do. My hand goes to the patch of scar tissue on my shoulder. “It’s hard to pick one,” I finally say as I blink back the tears. I grind my teeth and let out a breath before putting on a fake smile and looking at him again. “I’m supposed to be interviewing you, and here you are, asking me questions.”

“Right, sorry. You’re interesting, Haley Parker.” He laughs, and oh my God, he looks adorable when he does. He pushes his hair back, revealing a crooked scar that runs from behind his left eye all the way to his scalp, disappearing into his hair. I thought that was added for characterization in Shadowland. It is real?

“Right.” He leans back and stretches his arms. I can’t help but steal a glance at his muscles before I get out my digital voice recorder. I flick it on and set it on the table. Then things turn professional. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about the movie I’m working on.”

“The Last Ride,” I say without missing a beat. Thank you, Lori. “It’s the first movie you’ve done outside your normal genre. Are you enjoying it?”

“It’s been a great experience,” he says with no hesitation. “I’m lucky to have the chance to expand my acting.”

We go through ten minutes of standard questions. His answers are practiced to the point of being fake. I try to stick to the list Weebly sent me, but my mind keeps drifting and my eyes wander over him, wondering what other scars from the show were actually real. He’s confident in his acting skills and comes off as cocky in his interview. It won’t be hard to alter this just a bit to make him look good. Lucky for him, I’m a fan.

“What happened?” he asks suddenly, interrupting me. His eyes leave my face and land on my shoulder. I turn the recorder off and stare at him incredulously. “You touched your arm when I asked about the worst case.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumble, my voice hollow. Just who does he think he is? You don’t ask questions like that, famous or not. He thinks he’s entitled to anything he wants, even when it’s the truth from a stranger.

He tips his head. “It looked painful.”

I just shake my head, feeling tears well up in my eyes. He had seen the ugly, nasty scars. “It was,” I whisper. I gather my things. “Thank you for your time, Aiden. I should go,” I say with a tight voice.

“Hey,” he says and reaches out, his fingers landing on top of my hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” And there he is, back to a normal human being. “Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?”

I nod, knowing if I open my mouth I might cry. He gets up without asking me what I want and goes to the counter. There’s a line three-people deep; he sidesteps and goes to the front. Really?

I tip my head up to blink away the tears. Mom, you’d be laughing if I could tell you how awkward this was. And you’d probably slip in a lecture on me not having any expectations from an actor. I smile at the memory of Mom’s laughter, of the way she threw her head back and embraced her loud, crazy laugh.

I turn back to Aiden. He’s at the front of the line, posing for a picture next to the person he cut right in front of. Must be nice. I run my hands through my hair and find two more pieces of hay that I quickly pull out and hide in my purse.

I’m composed once again by the time Aiden sits back across from me. He slides a drink across the table.

“Thank you,” I say and wrap my fingers around the white cardboard cup. “What is it?”

“Coffee with a couple of shots of Bailey’s. You look like you could use it.”

I push my eyebrows together. “Thanks?” I bring the cup to my lips and take a sip. Damn. There is no liquor in my coffee. Just French vanilla creamer. “Liar.”

He smiles. “I know.”

I find myself smiling too. “Is it sad I was hoping there was really booze in this?”

“Well, according to my therapist…” he starts and laughs as he rakes his fingers through his hair. He has another scar on the inside of his arm along his wrist. In the show, he got that scar from a knife fight. There is no way it’s a real scar too. “Really, though,” he continues, and his eyes drop to my cleavage. In his defense, I had put on my most padded push-up bra and tightened the straps to give the girls the best lift. They were popped up high, saying hello to the world. “You do look like you could use a drink. Go out with me tonight.”

It wasn’t a question. He didn’t ask me to go out with him. He was telling me that I was. Our gazes lock, and he gives that smug half smile that gets his character in Shadowland out of trouble. I almost fall for it. Almost.

“I can’t,” I say and take a drink of coffee. A night out drinking would be wonderful, and a night out drinking with Aiden would be amazing. Well, I assume so at least. But a night out drinking meant staying out late and possibly not at my house. It meant not being home in the early morning to feed the horses, and it meant not working with Sundance and not using the rest of tonight and not being there to tend to Phoenix’s wounds and give her medication.

He leans back. “You’re joking, right?”

“I wish I was,” I say. My eyelashes come together in a long blink. “The horses…I…I have to take care of them.”

He doesn’t look angry or even hurt, just confused. Genuinely confused. I’m guessing no one ever turns him down. “Do you have a boyfriend or something? It’s just drinks.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Are you into women?” he asks bluntly.

I gape at him, mouth opening in shock. Did he seriously just ask that? He’s so full of himself he thinks someone has to be a lesbian to turn him down. “No, I’m not. Are you?”

He laughs. “Very much so.” He gives me his trademark smile again. “Maybe you didn’t hear. Come out with me. It’s boring as hell here. I could use some fun. I’m taking you out tonight.”

Thank you, Aiden. You just made this much easier. “I’m sorry, but no, I can’t,” I say again, as I watch the confusion come back to his handsome face.

“Your loss,” he says under his breath, and I am so glad I’m not going out with him.

Chapter 6

I cannot stop thinking about her, cannot get her out of my mind. From the moment our eyes met, I knew she was different. I was told I was being interviewed by someone named Parker, and I assumed it was a man. When the annoying bell chimed for the millionth time and I looked up, I wasn’t expecting to see her come through.

She is beautiful in an unconventional way, so unlike the women I’ve surrounded myself with the last few years. She’s tall and fit without being overly thin. I knew right way her supple breasts were real. There was pain behind her green eyes—eyes that I didn’t want to stop looking into, eyes that showed all the emotion she was holding back.

What happened to her?

I finish my drink and flop back onto the hotel bed. Why the fuck am I so interested in her? She’s a journalist. Some aren’t much better than paparazzi. But she wasn’t like them. The things she said…the depths of her words…no, Haley is different.

And she turned me down. She fucking turned me down. That never happens.

I considered getting some cast mates to go to the bar with me instead, and finding some random chick to take back to my room and fuck, pounding her until Haley was just a memory. I could have easily, but I didn’t. I came back to my room alone and am now drinking in the dark, thinking about second chances.

You don’t get a second chance. Life fucks you up, and you have to move on and make your new destiny. There are no do-overs. Because if there were, I’d have found mine.

I’m tired, and my body wants to sleep. I close my eyes and see her face. I roll over and grab my phone, swiping the screen and tapping in my password. I open the Internet and stare at the blank screen. What do I expect to find? Even Google can’t help me figure out why Haley got under my skin so much.

Regardless, I type in her name and add “horse rescue” to the search. What comes up horrifies me. The first hit isn’t a website for her barn. It’s a news article from April. I want to stop reading. I don’t want to know these horrible things. I’ve shut them out for the last four years, surrounded myself with fame and the finer things in life for a reason.

I’m pissed at her now for bringing darkness.  I’m pissed at her because now I care, and now I feel like an arse for asking about her burns.

And I’m fucking pissed I want to make it up to her.

I let the phone fall onto the mattress. Images of fire flash before me. I wasn’t even there and it terrifies me. My eyes open and I sit up, clutching my chest. I’m not drunk enough to pass out, but I have enough alcohol in me to shut off my mental filters.

Nope, not doing this. I get up and weave my way into the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face, get dressed, and get the hell out of this room.

In just two hours, I’ve successfully obliterated myself. I bring a woman back with me to my hotel room. She’s tall and blonde with a big arse. I think we have sex. Maybe. I’m too drunk to remember anything.

When I come to that next morning, I’m naked at the foot of the bed, tangled up in sheets. I have a condom on—thank God—and the girl I banged is sprawled out on the floor. Fuck. I have no idea what her name is.

She’s not as attractive as I thought she was last night. I hadn’t noticed the layers of makeup or the clip-in extensions. Whatever. It’s what I needed. Right? A fun night. No-strings-attached sex. Well, that’s what I assumed happened. For all I knew, she passed out and I jacked myself off before I passed the fuck out.

I text Claire, my PA, and tell her to bring me clothes and something to eat…and to deal with that chick who’s naked and lying spread eagle on the floor of my suite. Then I plan to pass out so I can get up and repeat the same thing tonight.

“Aiden.”

I groan and feebly raise my arm in the air, swatting away whoever is standing next to my bed.

“Aiden, you have to get up.”

It’s Claire. What the fuck is she doing here? She knows not to wake me up. “Go away,” I mumble. The blankets get yanked back. I open my eyes and feel nausea twist in my gut. Why are the curtains open?

“Get up,” she says sternly. “You’re already late.” Late? Late for what? Ah, fuck. Work. I was supposed to get up and get to the set around sunrise. Well, that’s not happening. “The director called.”

“No, he didn’t. Stop lying.” My face is pressed into the pillow. I don’t think she can understand anything I’m saying. She says I sound ‘too British’ when I’m hung over and makes me repeat everything. I don’t care. All I care about is going back to sleep.

“Fine, his assistant called. It doesn’t matter who called, Aiden. You have to get up and get your ass to the set.”

I groan and push myself up, unable to open my eyes.

“Jesus,” she says, extending a water bottle and two pills. “You look like shit.”

I glare at her, wishing I felt well enough to threaten her job or at least make a retort back. Instead I pop the pills in my mouth and take a gulp of water. “Tell them I’m sick,” I say. “Food poisoning. Or the flu. Or something. Fuck, anything. I don’t care.”

“Everyone knows you went out drinking last night.” She hands me a shirt. “This is a small town. Even if it weren’t for the paparazzi, you stick out. There are pictures of you on Perez Hilton’s site.”

I stick my arms through the sleeves of my shirt and struggle to pull it over my head. I’m still fucking drunk. Finally, I get the shirt on and glare at Claire. Her red hair is pulled into a tight bun on the top of her head and her pale skin is flush from frustration.

I’ve fired her three times over the last year. Yet I always hire her back within a week. She’s a pain in the arse and never sugar coats anything like the other assistants I’ve had. She doesn’t stroke my ego, or anything else—I’ve tried before when I was drunk—but she’s damn good at what she does. I don’t say it, but I can’t function without her. And she knows it.

I pull on trousers and stand up. Claire runs her fingers through my hair to pull out the tangles. There’s nothing sexual about her touch. She’s several years older than me and puts off a mum vibe. I haven’t admitted to myself yet that I like the maternal affection. God knows I didn’t get any of it as a child.

“Put these on,” she says, giving me sunglasses and a baseball cap. “Keep your head down. We can’t afford any stops, and trust me, you don’t want anyone seeing you like this.” She’s on the phone as we hurry through the hallway of the hotel. Frank, my bodyguard, nods at Claire and his cheeks redden just a bit. I smile to myself. Oh, there’s something going on between them.

“Where’s my phone?” I ask, and Claire digs it out of her giant bag.

“Your battery is at fifteen percent, but I have the portable charger in the car.”

“Thanks.” I unlock it and scroll through my messages. Most are from my friends, who are also famous. Actors, artists, and a few TV show hosts. I answer as many as I can on my way to the car, which is waiting for me in front of the hotel. A small crowd gathers around. I don’t care what Claire says. I hold my hand up and smile.

Claire shakes her head and sighs, opening the door for me to get into the car. I slide in the back of the sedan and take the sunglasses off. I open the Internet to look at the supposed horrible picture of me. My browser is still open to the article of the barn fire that killed Haley’s mother.

“That girl who interviewed me Saturday,” I start and close the window. I remember Haley’s eyes so vividly. A pretty shade of green with blue flecks around the pupil, holding back so much hurt, reflecting the pain I’ve tried so fucking hard to bury.

“What about her?” Claire asks, eyes going wide. “Was she rude? Did she do a bad interview? Should I call and bitch?”

I smile. “No, but can you get me info on her?”

Claire turns to me, eyebrows hiking up so high they disappear under her bangs. “Why?”

I shrug. “Don’t ask questions. Just do it.”

She purses her lips together. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

Another shrug. “Anything you can find.”

“If you go to jail for stalking, it’s not my fault,” she says as she types a reminder in her phone. I just smile and lean back, letting my eyes close. It’s an hour drive to the set—just enough time for a nap.

Claire wakes me up when the car goes through security. I run my hands over my face and groan. I’m hungry, have to pee, and feel like total shit.

“Eat this,” she says, handing me a protein bar. “Then drink this.”

I take a bite of the peanut butter flavored bar and force it down before chugging the rest of the water. I get a coffee while I sit in hair and makeup. I sip it and think about my character. I channel him, letting my thoughts fall to the wayside. I become him, feel what he feels, and let Aiden Shepherd disappear into nothing for the rest of the day.

“I know you get fixated,” Claire says that night. It’s eleven o’clock and we just got back from filming. She picked up Mexican food and brought it back to my room. “But this one, I don’t understand.”

She hands me a Styrofoam box filled with tacos, rice, and beans. I looked down at the papers she printed off about Haley Parker.

“She’s pretty and all, but she’s just some horse trainer who works for a small press. I don’t see why you’re so interested.”

“I asked her to go out with me,” I say, picking up a taco. It’s hot and dripping with grease, and totally against my strict diet. It’s heaven. “And she said no.”

“Oh, so you need to recover your ego?” She sticks a fork in her salad and flips through her calendar.

“Yeah,” I say quickly. It’s more than that. There’s something about Haley that hits me hard, and I’m still pissed she caused such darkness to stir inside of me. “She probably swings the other way.”

Claire shakes her head. “According to Facebook, she ended her last relationship with some boy named Lucas in February.” She sighs. “I don’t know, Aiden. You saw what this girl has been through. Maybe you should leave her alone.”

“Maybe,” I say so she won’t lecture me. I know that’s not something I can do. Haley is unlike anyone I’d ever met. Her passion for giving the horses a second chance, the way she thought anything could be redeemed, could be saved.

Maybe, just maybe, she’d think the same about me.