Page 61 of Still Missing You

“Isn’t it?”

The bar noise fades. All I hear is my blood pounding in my ears.

“You always need reassurance,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can soften them. “You’ve never really believed I wanted you. That you mattered to me.”

He flinches.

“You don’t trust me,” I add, quieter. “Not really.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve crossed a line.

Dylan goes very still. His eyes search my face as if he’s trying to figure out if I mean it.

“Hunter,” he says carefully, “that’s not—”

“I’ve told you,” I cut in, my voice rough. “Back then. But every time something gets hard, you just decide what I feel instead of asking me.”

“That’s not what I was doing,” he says.

“It’s exactly what you were doing. You think I’ll walk away, so you make sure you walk away first.” For a moment, neither of us moves. Then I take a step toward the door. “I need some air.”

“Hunter—”

But I’m already walking away and pushing open the door. Outside, the cold night air slams into me like a frigid wall. I suck in a sharp breath, the chill burning in my lungs.

I start walking, and my knee aches immediately, but I ignore it. I don’t think about where I’m going. I need distance. From Dylan. From everything.

Snow crunches under my boots as I head down the quiet street. Most of the businesses are closed now; their windows dark, streetlights casting long yellow pools across the pavement.

My anger burns hot.

But it doesn’t last.

How could he make a decision like that without even talking to me?

How could he just... decide what my future should be?

The memory of that night flickers in my mind—Dylan standing outside my house, shoulders tense, eyes refusing to meet mine as he told me it was over. I remember the hollow feeling in my chest. The way I stood there long after he’d walked away, trying to figure out what I’d done wrong.

Back then, I thought he’d just gotten scared, that when we saw each other at school again, we would talk and work it out. I couldn’t have guessed that I wouldn’t see him again for another decade.

Now, I know he thought he was saving me.

I kick a chunk of frozen slush off the sidewalk, frustration simmering under my skin.

The worst part is, I know exactly why he did it.

I know what my mom was juggling back then—two jobs, sometimes three. I remember what that scholarship meant. It wasn’t just football. It was a way out. A chance to help take care of my sisters. A chance to build something better.

Dylan had known too. Understood how important that scholarship had been. Hell, it was a big part of why I’d needed him to tutor me in the first place. If I didn’t bring my grades up, I would have been kicked off the team.

He decided I wasn’t worth telling, let me choose or even help.

I sigh as I start down the road that will take me to the inn. My anger cools into something heavier. Something like regret. I slow my pace. My knee is throbbing harder now. Walking this far was probably a stupid idea, but the cold air has done its job. My head is clearer than it was back at the bar.

I stop under a streetlight, breathing hard. Damn it. Storming out like that was stupid.

Dylan had finally told me the truth about something that’s haunted both of us for years, and I blew up at him in the middle of a crowded bar.