“Say it.” He ignores me, stacking two boxes on top of each other and picking them up. I back up to the door, pressing my back against it. “Open the door.” “Say it.” “Swayze, open the damn door.” “Say. It.” “You don’t know what you’re—” “Say it!” “I HATE THAT YOU’RE STAYING!” Clunk. The boxes hit the floor. “I hate that this life isn’t good enough for you. I hate that you’re choosing a life you know nothing about over a life with me. I hate that this small part of me actually believes that you were her. I hate the way you look at him. I hate that you had that stupid picture of him. I hate that
...more
