“Stevie, if there’s one thing Ford doesn’t feel for you, it’s hate.”
“He seems pretty mad,” I exhale.
Wyatt lifts his eyes to meet my own. “Shocked, he’s shocked. But he don’t hate you,” he mutters.
“Okay, now that that’s done, can we maybe all go back to having a good time?” Channing asks.
The men all chuckle, then slowly, one by one, they peel off and head over to the grill. I watch them go before I turn toward the group of women. So far, I know Channing and Hutton, but none of the others staring back at me.
There’s a moment of silence as they watch me, sizing me up, then Channing smiles. “Okay, this is Stephanie, or Stevie, or Sterling, what do you prefer to be called?” she asks.
I think about her question, then I decide that the guys are going to call me whatever the hell they want, but I don’t feel like Stevie anymore, even if that’s what they call me.
“Stephanie, please,” I say.
“Stephanie it is,” she says with a nod.
I’m then introduced to a petite pregnant woman named Tulip and a curvy woman holding a little girl named Exeter. I don’t know who is married to who, but they’re all absolutely gorgeous. There is one man standing amongst the others that I don’t know, although he looks familiar.
“That’s my husband, Louis,” Tulip says, answering my unasked question.
“Oh,” I say, my brows snapping together as I try to figure out how I know him.
“He’s a boxer,” she offers.
Shifting my gaze to hers, my eyes widen. “That’s Louis Kingston, isn’t it?”
Tulip nods. “That’s him, in the flesh.”
“Wow, I went to his last fight in Vegas, it was amazing.”
Something unreadable crosses her face and a smile twitches on her lips. “It was really amazing. It was the first time I’d seen him fight.”
The women and I spend a few hours chatting amongst ourselves, I keep waiting for Channing to show me just how much she hates me for leaving Ford at the altar, but she doesn’t. In fact, she’s the nicest of all the women.
I just don’t understand it, if it were me and my husband’s ex-fiancée was standing in front of me, I’d hate her. I can’t deny that I feel a pang of jealousy when I look at her and her children with him, myself.
FORD
Fuck.
Stevie is here, right here, and I can’t even bear to look at her. Reese and his love of fishing has saved me from being forced to be around the one woman I loved and lost. Inhaling a deep breath, I cast my line, then help Reese do the same.
“You okay?” a familiar voice asks.
I grunt, not ready to evaluate if I am, indeed, okay. “Big thing, seeing her again.”
“Yeah,” I finally admit.
Turning my head, I look up to Wyatt. He’s broken away from the group and is now standing at my side. I can’t really read the expression he wears because his beard is so fucking burly, you can’t see anything but his eyes, but I’ve known him my whole life and I know he’s concerned.
“I don’t even know in what kind of fucked up law of karma this is happening, or why,” I mutter.
Wyatt snorts. “No shit, right?”
Neither of us says anything else right away. Inhaling a deep breath, I let it out with a long sigh as I flick my eyes between my bobber and Reese’s. The silence draws on longer than it should, but I don’t mind it, I’m used to the quiet.
“She was as shocked to see you as you were her,” he finally says.
“And? I haven’t laid eyes on her in ten years, but she hasn’t seen me in almost twenty.”
Wyatt doesn’t say anything for another long moment. “She’s scared we all hate her for what happened. Worried you hate her.”
“Hate is not what I feel for Stephanie, couldn’t if I tried.”
“Maybe you should tell her that.”
“Maybe,” I whisper. “But I won’t.”
“Why?”
Keeping my gaze ahead on the water, on the bobbers, I shrug a shoulder. “Why should I? Why should I make her feel better for walking away from me? For never telling me why she left me. For refusing to talk to me, not giving me closure? Why?”
“Because, Ford. You ain’t a bitter asshole. You’re pissed, but don’t be ugly. She did what she did. You were both eighteen, you ain’t the same people anymore.”
“Yeah? You and Sammie, all those years, you pissed off at her and her feeling guilty every minute of every fucking day.