Rewind It Back (Windy City, #5)

by Liz Tomforde

“We should pick a song.” Pulling out my phone, I begin to scroll through my music library. “Pick a song?” “Yeah, you know, since it’s our second date. We should pick a song to remember it by. That way, when we hear it, it’ll remind us…” My words die when I see her face. Her eyes go wide, practically screaming how fucking weird she finds me, and when she opens her mouth to respond, it quickly closes without anything to say. Because she’s not her. No one else has been. “Or not,” I decide.

Now, he’s the one person I’ve actively worked to avoid since moving here. The one person who almost kept me from taking the internship in the first place, simply because I knew he lived in this city. My heart flutters like it used to before I remember everything that happened. Because I may have loved Rio DeLuca once, but I don’t anymore.

“What are you listening to?” “I don’t know the name. I just picked a song to remember the moment.”

“I pick a song when something cool or important happens so I can remember it. Then when I want to relive a moment, I rewind it back and start the song from the beginning.”

It had to be her. I’d recognize that face anywhere. Those hazel eyes. That wavy hair, which is so much shorter than it used to be. It may have been six years since I last saw her, but I’d never forget. I’ve thought about Hallie Hart more times over the last six years than I’ll ever admit, and yeah, there’s been a few instances where I let myself believe I saw her. Where I mistook someone else for her, as if my imagination was playing tricks on me.

God, she looked good. She always looked good, though, so that wasn’t much of a surprise. I still remember the first time I ever saw Hallie Hart, with that unbothered smile on her face, completely confident in who she was. But she wasn’t wearing that smile tonight.

Oh, it’s her all right because I’ll never forget the way my heart used to skip a beat when she’d say my name. It takes everything in me to keep my arms at my side instead of wrapping them around her shoulders and pulling her into my chest like I used to, just to make sure she’s real. Chocolate hair, with shimmers of lighter brown painted throughout, cuts bluntly below her chin. She used to keep it long, but it suits her this way. Now, it shows off that stunning face of hers. Soft freckles dot along the bridge of her nose. Her eyes that I remember being bright and kind now watch me with unease. Her mouth that used to beam with a smile no matter the situation is now turned down in the opposite direction. Regardless, she’s somehow even more beautiful than the last time I saw her, and that pisses me off. Because first off, how is that possible? And secondly, she fucked me over. Shouldn’t karma come into play here and give me a win?

“What’s up with the classic boombox?” He shrugs. “It still works. Why replace what’s not broken? And the guys can give me shit for it all they want, but I’m the only one on the team with good taste in music.” “You’re welcome for that.”

Hallie has always been stylish, whether that be in her fashion or interior design. She had the confidence to wear whatever she wanted to, and that confidence made any style of clothing work for her. Even pieces that might seem wacky or loud, that others were afraid to experiment with, Hallie found a way to make them cool. She once went through this phase where she painted each of her nails a different color, simply because she couldn’t choose one, and even that little quirk started a trend among the girls in our school.

But I don’t tell my mom any of that. I don’t tell her that I’ve thought about my childhood neighbor every day since seeing her again, and I certainly don’t tell her that Hallie is living in Chicago now. It would only further her case that it’s time for me to move home.

Stevie is married to my teammate, Evan Zanders or Zee as we call him, but I originally met both Stevie and Indy years ago when they were flight attendants for our team’s private plane. She and Zee got together that first year we all met and the rest of our crew kind of formed from there. Indy went on to marry Stevie’s brother and then four more friends came into the fold when the Rhodes brothers, who play or have played for Chicago’s MLB team, started coming around more. Kai Rhodes met his wife, Miller, when she spent the summer nannying for his young son, and Isaiah Rhodes met his wife, Kennedy, when she joined his team’s medical staff. The four members of the Rhodes family started coming to Sunday dinners here at the Shay house and thus formed our little Chicago found family of nine. Yes, nine. Because everyone is paired up except for me.

“I love how much the kids all love each other.” Kids now refers to all five of them. What was once just Max here sleeping upstairs during family dinner has turned into a whole slew of little ones. Zee and Stevie have one. Ryan and Indy have two, as do Kai and Miller. Isaiah and Kennedy are too focused on their careers to think about having kids, and I…well, I’m single as fuck, so there’s that.

Miller knows as well as the rest of us that she’s not actually jealous, nor does she need to be. Kai has never looked at another woman the way he does her.

Okay, if I could scream without causing our families to stare at me, I totally would. I love when he calls me Hal. It’s like a secret only he and I have.

I take my time choosing a song from the track list because I know this is a moment I’ll want to remember, and whichever song I choose is going to be one I put on next year’s mixtape because I’ll want to rewind it back and play it on repeat for a long time to come.

“Did you have a good birthday?” “Yeah.” “What was your favorite part?” This. “Um, maybe going to get my nails done with your mom this morning?” I hold my hands out to show him. “Ten different colors?” he asks with a laugh. “Couldn’t decide?” I shake my head no. “Kind of like your room.” He nods towards my window where I recently painted my bedroom walls…again. This go around, I decided to do each of the four walls a different color shade of green. I like it. For now.

“Hallie?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you like Kevin back?” “No. No...

“Well, maybe that was the first time you were told, but I know for a fact it wasn’t the first time someone liked you.”

“Rio, please. We both know you don’t actually care if something is upsetting me.” If only that were true. It’d make my life a whole lot easier if I could care less about this girl.

But I can’t focus on the answer when she’s looking at me like that, her eyes big and curious and hazel. So fucking hazel. I almost forgot how pretty they are, how they lean more green than brown depending on the light. How they’d screw shut if we were watching a scary movie together. How they’d softly close when I’d kiss her mouth. How they’d turn dark, her pupils blowing out when I’d kiss the rest of her. She’s staring right back at me, and when her lips slightly part, my attention drifts down to them instead. Fuck, I missed those. I still remember the first time we kissed. I remember the last time too, and that memory snaps me out of the stupid little spell that naturally lives between us. What the hell am I doing? This is why, even all these years later, it’s a bad idea for me to be alone in the same room as Hallie Hart. The pull between us is still there and I hate that.

Those hazel eyes flash with hurt and I hate that almost as much as I want to hate her. Too mean.

She’s in all black today. Black jeans, ripped apart at the knees. Black boots with a heel that does insane things to her legs and ass. A black satin shirt, unbuttoned at the top, allowing the layers of silver and gold necklaces to tease as they fall and disappear behind it. Fucking beautiful. She always has been though. But beyond that, I remember my other favorite things about her. She’s strong yet caring. Determined yet kind. There was a time when my absolute favorite thing in the world was to simply be with her. If I would allow myself to admit it, I missed Hallie Hart.

“I love your hair like this.” Fuck me. Did I say that out loud?

She’s doing it. This dream she had that we talked about for years, working for a big-name designer in a big city. Hallie is doing it. Pride swells when the realization hits me. And that pride feels conflicting too because I shouldn’t care anymore, but all I can see is the girl next door, the one I’d watch from my window as she redid her childhood bedroom more times than I could count. All to get here.

“You used to be my best friend, and yeah, we haven’t seen each other since then, but I’d rather hold on to the memory of the sweet neighbor boy I loved than replace it with this version of you.”

“If you want.” “But you hate me, remember?” His attention immediately meets mine, glare hard. “I don’t hate you. Hurt, yes. But I could never hate you, Hallie.”

Something strange happens in my stomach at that. Good God, are those butterflies? No, no they’re not because there’s no way I could feel any sort of excitement around this man again. I’m simply mistaken because it’s been so long since I’ve felt butterflies. Six years to be exact. He stretches his hand out again for me to shake. “So, what do you say? For the sake of my house and your job, should we try to be friends?” Friends. I could laugh. Seems an impossible stretch from where we are now.

“My teammates, Hallie. They spend a lot of time here, so it’s for them. And my best friend is kind of addicted to iced coffee. A few years ago, she was staying here for a couple of days, and her now husband gave me so much shit for not making her coffee correctly that I had to step up my

game. That’s all I meant by guests.” He points to one of the books on the table, the one filled with a crisp palette of whites and grays. “And put that one away. I fucking hate that one.”

To an outsider, this might seem odd, him having a coffee bar when he doesn’t drink caffeine or having dairy milk in his fridge when he’s lactose intolerant. But the thing is, Rio has always been good to his friends, has always had this innate way of loving and taking care of those important to him. One of his best characteristics is making those around him comfortable and welcomed, so a fully stocked coffee station for friends who are visiting makes perfect sense to me.

Nostalgia floods me. All those nights on the roof between our houses. All the mixtapes and CDs I gave him over the years. But there hasn’t been much good that’s worth remembering of late.

It feels like a drug, being this close to him, one that I used to be highly addicted to. God, I missed him.

I’m a bit envious of the community he has here in Chicago. He and I always had large circles of friends when we were younger, but the last few years have felt isolated from taking care of my dad. It’s one of the many reasons why I couldn’t have been more thrilled when Wren and I hit it off, but I’d love to expand my circle of friends in this city. Especially girlfriends. I attempt to commit their names to memory. Stevie with the curly hair and worn-in Nikes on her feet. Indy with her blonde braid and Converse. Miller with her tattoos and overalls. Kennedy with the Vans and striking red hair. “Hi,” I offer with a small wave.

“I’m going to do it!” His tipsy grin is way too big. “I’m going to go ask for her number.” “Hey, Rook?” He looks my way, so stupidly excited. “Yeah?” “Sit the fuck down.” “Yep.” He does just that, and as I leave the table to go find Hallie, I hear Kylie turn and introduce herself to him.

“Yeah, well you’re not his, so tell him to keep his hands to himself too.” Her eyes drop to my mouth. “I’m not yours either.” We’ll see.

“You sure look good in my shirt for not being mine.” “Get fucked, DeLuca.” I smile as I open the door. “Would love to. You just let me know when and where, Hart.”

But all it does is make my smile grow because Hallie can pretend to be unaffected by me, by us, by our history, but she’s still wearing my shirt when she gets back to work and looks damn good in it.

Eventually, she rests her arm on the console between us and holy hell, the nostalgia from that image alone is strong, remembering the first time I had the courage to hold her hand while driving her home much in the way I am now. We don’t talk for the entirety of the drive, but I note when her breathing turns slow and steady. The ride is lulling her to sleep, which isn’t surprising when I think about the hours she pulls on a daily basis. I think if I worked as hard as Hallie does, maybe even I’d be able to sleep. When I take our exit, I change my mind and get right back on the expressway. God knows I’m not going to get any sleep tonight anyway, so she may as well. I take note of the song that’s playing and keep on driving.

I’ve never looked at a girl the way I look at Hallie. I’ve never had the kind of friendship we have with anyone else. I’ve never even considered dating someone who wasn’t her. I’ve gotten teased by my teammates for turning down other girls. I’ve had my sexuality questioned because I’m sixteen and haven’t dated. But frankly, Hallie Hart is all I see. No, we aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend. We’ve never kissed or done anything like that. But it just feels…right. We haven’t even told each other we like each other, though I’m pretty sure it’s mutual. I think.

softly. “It was the first time I realized that you may feel the same way about me as I’ve always felt about you.” It may be her birthday, but I swear, with that single sentence, she just made all my wishes come true.

Which only makes me feel like shit. Luke would be cool with Hallie dating him, and I’m over here too scared to tell him about my feelings in fear he’d end our friendship over it. But she’s genuinely having a good time, laughing and dancing to the music with all her friends, with the most popular guy in school giving her all his attention. I’m glad she’s having fun. I am. I just wish that guy next to her was me.

I want to kiss her. God, do I want to kiss her. I’ve never wanted anything more, but what if I’m bad at it? What if I fuck up and hit her teeth or something? What if I ruin her first kiss? She’d never be able to get a do-over. While I’m reeling and nervous and entirely in my head, Hallie leans forward and presses her lips to mine. Well, sort of. She kind of misses and barely connects with the corner of my mouth, but it’s enough to tell me she wants this too. Standing straight again, she swallows hard. “Just in case you need a little push with that too. This sixteen and never been kissed thing is feeling a little cliché.”

It feels like there are six years of wanting wrapped into this kiss. He gives me a moment to catch on to what’s happening, for me to part my lips and ask for more. And when I do, when I give in to him, it becomes all-consuming, every one of my senses ramping up to ten. He smells incredible. He smells like him. He tastes delicious. Just as I remember. He feels strong and in control, with firm but measured pressure on my throat. I can’t see him with my eyes closed, but I can imagine how fucking good he looks, towering over me and taking what he wants. And as far as he sounds… God, the pleading noises coming from this man’s throat right now alone could cause me to come undone.

In all the times we’ve kissed before, he’s never kissed me like this. Like it’s the first time he’s come up for air in years. It’s frantic. It’s full of longing. But he has no idea how much I’ve longed for this. How I spent most of the past six years wanting exactly this. Wanting him. Wanting him to change his mind and find me so I could explain everything and hope to make him understand. Hope to make him forgive me. Hope that he’d want us again. And just like that, I remember I’m kissing the man I’m still heartbroken over. He must sense a change in me because he slows things down, or maybe I do, I don’t know. The kiss becomes softer and more tender, almost a bit apologetic. He gently runs his hand over my hair, down my neck, and over my rib cage as if he were committing it to memory. Then that same hand moves around behind me before I feel him slip something into the back pocket of my jeans.

He’s lost it. He’s absolutely lost it if he thinks I have the funds or the time to jump on a plane to have a conversation that would be equally as productive as an email.

that every single song is from a moment with him, but that’s okay. He was a part of all my best memories this year, just like he is most years. Any memories I wish I could rewind and relive are all the ones he and I have had over the years, growing up together. Learning each other. Falling for each other.

I don’t push his hand away. I don’t give him a hard time for teasing me and my wonky drawn hearts. I simply stare at his fingers, trying to ingrain the image into my memory because I know we won’t be on the roof this time next year. It makes me want to cry, thinking about it. Thinking about all the change that’s about to happen in our lives. “Hallie, do you know why I’m not scared?” He holds up the mix CD. “It’s because I know I’ve got a lifetime of getting these from you. We’ve got a lifetime of best moments ahead of us.”

And she’s not just watching me like she’s wondering what I’m doing out here, but she’s watching me as if she’s cataloging every new muscle I’ve earned since she last saw me naked. She’s not even trying to be subtle about it and I fucking love that. Hallie liked me when I was a scrawny teenager without an athletic bone in my body. She was always so good about building my confidence and never letting me worry that I might not be enough for her. So, I don’t question if she finds me attractive. Now, I feel like I get to show off in front of her.