The apartment is too quiet without her. The silence hits me like a fist to the solar plexus. I remember it clearly from all the time she was gone.

Not that she was here often.

But I was at her apartment, in her bed. I love listening to her puttering about. Sometimes she sings to herself. Sometimes she mutters. I love catching glimpses of her going about, her hips sometimes swaying to music only she can hear.

Did I ever tell her how much I like that? How much I like her in my apartment, in my life?

I carefully get out of bed, cautiously make my way to the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror and wince.

Yeah, I look like something the cat chucked up. Like a drunk bum off the street, my eyes bloodshot, my beard like a bird nest, my hair all tangled up.

Wincing, I unwrap the filthy, disheveled bandage from around my head and turn to examine the stitches on my skull. They shaved a small patch of hair to clean the wound, and I stare at it for a long moment.

Then I reach for the scissors.

My hand is shaking, so I take a moment to take deep breaths and wonder if I’ve gone nuts. What if she likes the hair and beard?

What if she leaves again tomorrow?

Ah fuck it.

First I clip big chunks of hair and watch it pile in the sink and flutter around me. I don’t cut my hair real short, instead leaving it to hang around my face to hide the shaved patch on my skull and so that I can still pull it back with a hair-tie when I work.

Then I clip my beard as close to my jaw as I dare, and finally abandon the scissors in favor of the razor.

Okay. Let’s do this, baby.

Wait, should I hold out until she comes back home?

Nah. It’s now or never. Let’s just hope I won’t cut myself by mistake and bleed to death all over my fucking sink.

Oh, that reminds me: shaving cream. That could help avoid the bloodbath. So I spray a blob of foam into my palm and start to shave.

Haven’t shaved off my beard since high school.

I am nuts.

But as I shave the last of it off, I feel better. Different. Kinda of going back into time, when I could still change who I was, change my path, change the future.

Kinda symbolic, I guess.

I put down the razor, wipe my face with a towel, and stare.

Holy shit, I look weird without a beard. Is this really me?

Is this good or bad? Will she hate it? Will she like it?

Holy fuck, what was I thinking?

Jesus. My head throbs. What little energy I had is spent. Might as well get back into bed and nap. Feels like it’s all I’m doing these days.

But before I pass out again, there’s a couple of things I need to do… and that’s when I see her phone, forgotten on the coffee table, and decide to include it in my plan.

* * *

When I come back to life a while later feeling like a fucking vampire, squinting against the light, she’s inside the apartment.

It’s late afternoon, so I must have been out for a few hours, but I can hear her moving about, and I smile despite the pain in my temples.

She’s back.

I hear also the sound she makes when she discovers what I have inside the fridge, and then another gasp when she sees the flowers on the window sill of the kitchen.

Pushing myself to sit upright, I smooth down as best as I can my wrinkled shirt and formal pants, the only pair I own. Then I shove my socked feet into my best pair of shoes and rake my hand through my much shorter hair.

Christ, again I feel like a teenager. Will this ever change with her?

The handle of the bedroom door turns slowly, and she pokes her head inside. “Kaden?” she whispers, her eyes widening when she finds me awake and struggling to stand up. “Let me help you.”

I grunt, but accept her help, swallowing my manly pride. I don’t wanna spoil the evening by cracking my head open again. Truth is, I’m not that dizzy anymore, but it’s as if my sense of depth is still off.

“Why are you dressed up?” Her eyes are round as saucers as she takes a step back and stares at me. “And why…oh my God. Your beard.”

I’d forgotten about it. I scratch at my bare chin and frown. “Yeah. It had to go.”

She reaches up, going on tip toe, one hand braced on my chest and the other exploring my face. I suck in a sharp breath, the featherlight touch of her fingertips on my jaw and over my mouth shooting electric bolts of want right to my dick.

“God, I can’t believe it.” Her voice is hushed, her eyes darkening more.

“What?”

“You have a chin dimple.”

Oh. I catch her hand when it wanders up my cheek again. “Do you like it?”

“I like it,” she says, her voice going lower, and Jesus, I’m so hard right now.

But I’m not getting sidetracked from my plan this time. I kiss her hand. “Good. So how about dinner with me?”

“Dinner?”

“Didn’t you find the food?”

“Oh yes. I did. And the flowers.”

I love her blush. “You didn’t check the oven,” I say. “There’s also cake.”

Forget the cake, she looks edible. Sweet. I want to lick her skin and bite her neck, leave hickeys. Mark her. Eat her up.

Control, Kaden.

“Is it… the birthday thing you talked about?” She swallows hard. “Is this what this is about? You meant it?”

“I have meant every single word I’ve said to you.” I cup her face. “I love you. I fucking missed you. I want you. This. Us.”

She blinks, lashes lowering. “Kade…”

I don’t wanna talk now. Don’t wanna admit I remember. I just want this evening for us, to show her how it could be.

How it can be from now on.

Oh, I’ll talk all right. Only not about the fight. About things I never told her. I’ll bring my walls down for her.

And I’ll make sweet love to her, just to prove I’m capable of it.

Proving myself to her, that’s what tonight is all about.

The other talk can fucking wait.

* * *

She sets the dining table for two and I warm up the food in the microwave. I’m not supposed to drink anything, not with a concussion and not with this medication, but she can.

Maybe she’ll need it.

So I take out the chilled white wine and uncork it, then pour her a generous glass and place it beside her plate on the table.

She stares at it. Then she shoots me a questioning glance.

“Let’s eat,” I say and my stomach rumbles, agreeing with me. “The flowers are for you, by the way.”

Not the carefully prepared speech I’d composed in my head. I can’t even remember what I meant to say, and this came out like an order. Like the flowers were an afterthought. I was supposed to pull back her chair and offer her those flowers. Say something nice.

My vision is swimming, though, so I guess for right now this is the best I can do.

She smiles at me, a brilliant smile, so I guess I haven’t fucked up completely yet.

But hey, the night is young.

The food is good. It’s from my upstreet delivery place, a French place I’ve heard people talk about but never tried before.

Then I look up to see Hailey toying with her food, pushing a potato around her plate with her fork, and the food sticks in my throat.

Dammit, I should have taken her out. Maybe tomorrow, when I can stand upright properly.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“Fess up.”

“Okay.” A smile flickers over her face. “Trust.” She puts the fork down. “What shattered your trust in people? All those keys…” She gestures at the ink streaming down my arm. “I know what broke mine: my parents, first, my ex-boyfriend after that. What about you?”

“Your parents got divorced,” I mutter, sorting through memories of things she’s told me. “And found other partners.”

“Oh yes. And passed me around like a hot potato. Neither wanted to keep me.”

I frown. “Bastards. What’s wrong with people?”

“I was the problem. I slowed them down, took up too much of their time.”

“They are your goddamn parents!” My fists curl on the table. I’d punch them if they were here.

Her brows go up, and okay, I might have said that last bit out loud. Her cheeks color and she laughs softly. “Thanks. Nobody’s offered to do that for me before.”

“You don’t slow me down,” I tell her. “I want you to take up my time. Hailey—”

“And what’s your story? Why the distrust? Was it all because of Eva?” She’s twisting a paper napkin between her delicate fingers, her mouth tight. It’s obvious she’s changing the subject, and I let her, although I’m not happy about it.

I want to make her understand I’m not like her parents. I won’t get tired of her. I’ll cherish our time together from now on. That I trust her. That I’m fucking sorry I didn’t work harder to show her that in the time when we were together.

How do you talk about something you’re not supposed to remember?

I guess I’ll start by answering her question. Giving up my secrets. “I lost my trust in people when I was thirteen.”

She arches her slender brows, and a shadow of concern passes behind her eyes. “Kade—”

“Eva,” that’d be the girl who accused me of deviant sexual practices and cost me a good deal of lost sleep, “she just hammered the deal home.”

The damage was done earlier, and damn I wish I could have a stiff drink right about now. I’ve never told this to anyone, not even Matt.

“What happened when you were thirteen? You’re worrying me.” She bites into her lush lower lip, and I force my gaze away.

“Sorry. No-one molested me, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I did sleep with older girls quite early. I was tall for my age, and walked around with a permanent hard-on, or so it seemed, and they…liked me. And I liked them, too. I like girls.”

I grin at her, and she shakes her head. “So you were having sex when you were thirteen?”

“Yeah. My parents worked hard. They were never home. Matt was a good brother but he didn’t keep an eye on me at all times. I bet he was screwing around with girls, too. Anyway, the thing is…” I swallow again, reach for my water and take a big gulp. “I slept with this girl. She was a few years older than me, popular in her class. A cheerleader. Pretty. Nowhere as pretty as you, though.” I flick Hailey a quick glance to see how she’s taking this, but she still looks worried.

Dammit.

“And?” she mutters. “What did she do to you?”

A warm feeling spreads in my chest. She didn’t automatically assume I was in the wrong. Usually people assume that of me without asking questions.

Apparently, I look like the type likely to cause trouble. A troublemaker.

“She wanted to keep seeing me. I was more interested in video games and football. Hell, I was still a kid. But she was apparently hurt by my attitude and I dunno, felt she needed revenge. So she told everyone at school that I can’t get it up. That my dick is tiny. That I wear frilly underwear. That I wanted her to spank me. It was fucking awful.”

My chest is tight. There’s a reason I don’t like to talk about this. It may seem silly now, but back then it broke my confidence into tiny pieces. Broke my trust.

She cracks a tiny smile. “When you are the one who likes to do the spanking.”

I let out a shuddery breath. “Yeah. Right.”

“You got bullied?”

I nod.

“Things written on your locker, and pics and stuff?”

I shrug. “Also, some boys thought it was a good excuse to try and get me to suck their dicks.”

“Oh shit.” Her face pales. “Kade.”

“I punched their lights out.” I lean back in my chair, smirking. “That put a stop to that idea, at least.”

She laughs again. “You’re something.”

“So they tell me.”

She sobers up, reaches for my hand over the table. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“Thanks.” A weight has lifted off my chest, but the pressure has shifted to my damn head, because the pain that’s been hammering steadily at the back of my eyeballs suddenly flares, making me wince. I put a hand over my eyes, the light like splinters. “So there you have it. The reason why I’m such a dick.”

“You’re not a dick, Kade. Kade, hey.” Her chair screeches as she pushes it back and I groan. She kneels in front of me, strokes my knee. “You okay? Shall I bring the painkillers?”

I nod, and she’s gone only to return a second later with the pills and handing me a full glass of water. But after I hand her back the glass, she doesn’t move.

“What is today really about?” she whispers.

I wave a hand. “I wanted to show you,” I rasp, “I can be who you need. Someone…who’s not a brute. But I’m just a goddamn mechanic. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I want to be who you need, but I bet you could do better than me.”

She doesn’t speak, and the tension is amping up the pressure inside my head. Why isn’t she saying something? Does this mean she agrees with what I said?

Jesus Christ.

And when she does speak, my headache grows worse, because it’s not what I’d hoped to hear.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispers, her voice thick.

“Why the hell not? I’m trying, I…”

I fucking love you.

Dunno how else to get you back.

She looks away. “Look, the thing is…we had a fight, Kaden. You had these pics and messages on your phone from a girl I didn’t know. She seemed very familiar with you.”

“You mean like the million text and pic messages you have from this guy on yours?” Stop, Kaden. Goddammit, stop. But I can’t. “I think there were a few dick pics in there, too. Is he your new boyfriend?”

Shock tightens her face. “You checked my phone?”

“Why, it’s only okay if you check mine? Peek inside, make up your mind about me and walk out without giving me a chance to explain? That was okay by your book?”

She jerks up to her feet, hair tumbling in her eyes. They’re wide and shimmering with tears. “You remember, don’t you?”

“I remember everything. Every single fucking thing.”

Her eyes flash when she shoves her hair back. “The guy on my phone? That’s my ex, Trent, and I’m about to change my phone number to get rid of the asshole. But you know what? You talk of trust and changing, but you let me believe you didn’t remember what happened between us. You lied to me. Let me think that you… Oh God.”

She shakes her head and walks away from me.

What the hell? “You’re the one who walked away without letting me explain. And I was going to tell you after tonight. I just wanted to show you…Wait, Hailey!”

But she grabs her small suitcase and her purse and steps out of my apartment and my life, again.

No fucking way. Not letting her go this time, not without making sure I know what’s going on in her pretty little head. Looks like I met my match: a girl with trust issues as fucking big as mine.

Getting to my feet takes a long moment, and I lean against the table until the room steadies. Then I start after her, and discover that the elevator is out of order.

I glance at the flights of stairs and cold sweat breaks over my forehead. No way…

Jesus Christ, I really must’ve fucked up badly in a past life…