To every teacher that reads this—
I appreciate you more than you know
Adair
Present Day
I thought my life was hell until the devil walked through my door. He wore a wicked smile and a familiar face. That day I looked into his blue eyes—the eyes of the only man I’ll ever love—and all I found was hatred.
Baudelaire said the loveliest trick of the devil is to persuade you he doesn’t exist.
He’s wrong. Sterling Ford is the devil, and his greatest trick was convincing me we had something real. Five years ago. Last night. It doesn’t matter. I fell for his lies.
One month. That’s how long it took him to get under my skin and to get me back in his bed. Stupid doesn’t begin to cover it. Reckless? Maybe. Self-destructive? Definitely. And now he thinks he can mess with my heart. Two can play that game. Let’s see how he likes coming home to an empty bed.
That’s why I’m sitting in my car at the stoplight on the corner, blinking back tears, as he jogs down the street with Zeus. Sterling looks as free as his adopted bulldog as they run toward his apartment building, Twelve and South. My insides twist and I consider ducking out of sight.
I don’t.
I’m done hiding from this man. I’m not running from him or his lies anymore. I’m walking away. I should have set his house on fire. The message would have been loud and clear. Maybe then he’d stop toying with me. I eye his black canine companion and remind myself that I love him—the dog, not the man. Zeus deserves a good home. At least his owner is better with pets than people.
Despite that, I’m watching him in my rearview mirror. Sterling pauses at the entrance to open a door for someone with a baby stroller, and I wonder for an instant what would happen if he looked up. My car is directly in his line of sight. He’s not about to mistake the Roadster for someone else’s car. I imagine him spotting me. He’d walk over, and what? Ask me where I was going? What would I say? Would I explain myself? I can almost hear it: Sorry your girlfriend texted you. I figured I should bow out. That would be damn near civil. I can’t have that. Maybe I would demand answers? Except I don’t want to hear his excuses. Sterling doesn’t deserve a second more of my time. He’s stolen enough from me. Five years of my life gone like they mean nothing. Anger churns inside me until I wish he would see me. Maybe I should have stayed and confronted him. Gotten the answers I deserve.
He steps inside the building, and my fantasies dissolve. He’s not going to come after me. There will be no reckoning. I don’t realize how tightly I’m gripping the leather steering wheel until a loud honk sends me jumping in my seat, the wheel my only anchor. The light turns green and I gun it through the intersection, speeding away from the wreckage of us.
I’m glad he didn’t see me. This time I’m not waiting around for Sterling to leave again. I refuse to look for a reason for his betrayal, because I already know why he did it. I need to accept the truth that’s been right in front of me the whole time. Sterling Ford didn’t come back because he loves me. He came back because he hates me.
This isn’t a game anymore. This is war.
Adair
Five Year in the Past
This is going exactly as I expected.
A surprise birthday party—the last thing I wanted tonight—and now an obviously pissed Sterling stalking back to me.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He doesn’t look up. He just keeps his hands shoved into his jeans, his glare directed at the driveway. “Too many people,” he grumbles. “I just wanted to get out of here. I didn’t think you’d care.”
“You didn’t think I’d…” How can he think that after I made it clear he was the only person I wanted to see today? A raw ache swells in my throat. “You were just going to take off. I was going to…”
I cut myself off again. The only way to be even more inexperienced in Sterling’s eyes is to make a big deal over losing my virginity. That’s so not how I want that to happen. I’m not some maiden waiting for my wedding night in a novel. It just seemed like a pretty good way to take my mind off my birthday. I thought he understood that. I guess I was wrong.
Sterling’s head lifts and he studies me for a second, the look on his face inscrutable. Finally, he shakes his head. “You just seemed busy,” he says, sounding more tired than mad now. “I’m not much of a partier. I didn’t want to rain on your parade.”
“I know that.” I force a smile, the knot in my throat loosening a little. “We can sneak off after—”
“There you are!” Poppy’s voice trills. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”
I glance between my best friend and my boyfriend, torn.
Sterling bobs his head in her direction. “Go on. I’ll stick around.”
“No way.” I pull on his arm until he slips his hand from his pocket and twines it with mine. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“Sure.” He sounds anything but; however, he comes with us.
The party is moving inside to the ballroom, DJ included. A fresh champagne tower is already flowing, and the bar is open. The presents have been brought in, stacked high next to a table full of jars of candy and small plastic balls with a sign that reads ‘Trick-or-treat.’ Poppy’s thought of everything my mom would have done, down to the Halloween candy and the party favors.
“Don’t go anywhere,” she orders me. “I want you to open presents in a minute.”
I force myself to smile—to pretend like I’m enjoying myself.
“How are you doing?” Sterling asks when we’re alone. He hasn’t spoken once since we came inside, and he’s no longer holding my hand.
I rectify that, clasping his again, and shake my head. “My mom loved to throw me birthday parties. Every year there was a theme centered around Halloween. I know Poppy meant well, but all I see are the ways this isn’t the party my mother would throw.”
“Like?” he asks.
“She definitely would have stuck with champagne and skipped the hard liquor,” I tell him. “Mom didn’t like underage drinking.”
“But champagne was okay?” Behind his puzzled expression something darker flashes.
“She would say drinking is to escape.” I can practically hear her speaking. “But champagne is to experience.”
The ache is back, amplified by thoughts of her. I clear my throat, trying to get rid of it. “Candy?”
Sterling shrugs. He really doesn’t want to be here. I can’t blame him. Instead, I hold his hand tighter. We make our way to the jars on the table, and Sterling picks up a plastic ball while I unwrap a Belgian chocolate.
“What’s this?” He holds it up.
“A trick or a treat. It is Halloween.” I try to sound cheerful, but I wonder if he picks up on the strain.
He pops it open and his eyes grow wide.
“What did you get?” I angle my head to peek, discovering a folded up bill.
Sterling unfolds it to reveal the face of Ulysses S. Grant.