Ford

“You’re not eating. Why aren’t you eating?” Nicolette pushes my breakfast plate closer, as if that could possibly bring my appetite back. “You’re going to be starving later. The clam bake takes all day with all those stupid games and stuff they make us play. We won’t be eating until later.”

“I’ll live.”

Arlo digs at his soggy Frosted Flakes. The hotel boasts a five-star restaurant with a celebrity-chef prepared menu, but this kid wanted cereal.

Nicolette clears her throat. Then again. Her eyes darted over my shoulder as if to point in that direction.

“Mason,” she says under her breath.

“So?” I shrug, trying to ignore the palpitations reverberating against my chest wall at the thought of seeing her again.

When I first saw her last night, I was angry. All those emotions I’d buried so long ago, the ones that had settled to the bottom in hopes they’d someday be forgotten, were stirred, rising to the surface to be experienced all over again.

A couple drinks later, my breathing had returned to normal, but I was still seeing red, still ensuring I kept my distance if only because I didn’t trust myself not to say something—or do something—I’d later regret.

There were things I wanted to say to her, things I’d harbored for years. Things I’d written a hundred times in letters that were eventually torn into a hundred pieces, burned in fireplaces and left in trash cans in hotels around the world.

“Ford. Nicolette.” Mason’s arrogant burr fills my ears. I don’t turn to face him. If he wants to speak to me, he can stand in front of me. I refuse to so much as crane my neck in his direction. He moves around the table, lowering himself to my nephew’s level. “And you must be Arlo.”

Arlo glances at his mom, silently asking who the hell this jackass is.

“How are things?” Mason wears an enormous smile, like he’s biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to rub his success in our faces. Growing up, he was always jealous of us, of our intelligence and our hardworking drive and ambition. Those things came natural to us, they were effortless. He hated us for it, but only because we made him look bad.

Guess he sure showed us.

“Did you need something?” I ask, refusing to make eye contact. I butter a slice of toast from my plate to make the simple point that a piece of warm bread is more deserving of my attention than he is.

“Just saying hi.” He shrugs, not getting the hint that he’s not wanted. “It’s been, what, ten years or so?”

“We’re not really keeping track …” Nicolette hides her smirk behind a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice.

“I’ll have to introduce you to my girlfriend,” he says. “You’re going to love her. Smart as a fox. Beautiful too. Hoping she’s the one.”

My fist clenches around my fork, my jaw tightening.

Maybe I’ve moved on. Maybe I don’t want her anymore. But I sure as fuck don’t want him to have her. He deserves some vapid Brazilian supermodel, not the woman of my goddamned dreams.

“Best of luck to you, Mason.” Nicolette locks eyes with me. “See you around.”

Mason lingers, and I imagine he’s disappointed that he couldn’t stand around and brag a little more, but I don’t particularly give a shit.

“Heyyyy.” Nic kicks my leg under the table. “What was that about? I know we hate that bastard, but for a minute there I thought you were going to drive a butter knife through his carotid artery.”

Drawing in a long breath, I shake my head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Nic is my best friend. I’ve always told her everything.

But I never told her about Halston.

I was ashamed. Humiliated. A fucking disgrace to everything we’ve ever stood for.

All she knows is it didn’t work out.

She doesn’t know why.

Tossing my napkin over my plate, I excuse myself. I need a run, a cold shower, and a whole lot of self-restraint before we head to Aunt Cecily’s.