Rayleigh
"You know, you're lucky I love you, or I would have made you pay me for gas this trip and last." Kaye scolds as we pass the 'Welcome to Myrtle Beach' city sign. I feel my pulse quicken, knowing I'm about to come face to face with Damien.
The man may be angry with me. He called me at least two hundred times. I had to turn my cellphone off. I know I should have answered but I couldn't let his voice cloud my thoughts at the time. That's why I left. I would have jumped in headfirst and had doubts about us later. I needed the space.
I rolled my eyes, "Kaye, stop bullshitting." I say, feeling my hands become sweaty. Fuck, why am I so damn nervous?
"Ray, calm down. The man is going to be happy to see you. Chill," Kaye shakes her head.
"I hope you're right. I ignored a lot of his calls. He might be pissed." I admit looking at the beach house. Oh god! What if he says fuck off, you lost your chance?
"I'm telling you, you're good. He'll be happy you came back." She assures me. I nod, taking deep breaths. We pull into the driveway and she places the car in park and turns the engine off.
"Alright, let's go, Ray." Kaye orders, opening her door.
"You two go ahead. I need a few minutes to settle my nerves." I tell her looking out to the front of the beach house. I began to chew on my thumbnail. Shit! Get it together Ray!
Kaye laughs getting out. Chelsea pats my shoulder before she climbed out of the back seat. I watch them walk to the door. They disappear as soon as they walk in, shutting the door behind them.
I close my eyes and place my hand on my head. "Come on Ray, pull yourself together. Kaye is right. He'll be happy to see me." I take a deep breath and then open my eyes.
"Shit." I breathe as Damien walks up to the car. My heart begins to beat erratically as he approaches and opens the door. He climbs in quietly and stares out to the beach house.
What the hell do I say?
He clears his throat, "You're back." It's not a question. Obviously, I'm right beside him. Fuck the man is gorgeous, and it doesn't help my nerves. He's wearing a tight black shirt, allowing every fucking muscle in his body to be seen. I fight the urge to look at those basketball shorts, knowing I'd look like a fucking perv.
"Yes, I had the space and time I needed." He looks at me and I don't move. I can't tell if he's looking at me angrily or not. I'm scared to look.
"And..." he says, wanting more. I take a deep breath. "Ok, I have to appreciate this. You at least came all this way to say it to my face instead of through a text or call." He says quickly, shaking his head slightly.
I scrunch my eyebrows, confused. I turn and face him but he's not looking at me anymore. Instead, he's looking at the beach house. I open my mouth to ask him what he's talking about, but I'm interrupted by his fist abruptly slamming against the steering wheel. The car shakes from the force along with a sharp blast from the horn.
I jump back against the door quickly, startled by his burst of anger. "No!" He raises his voice. "No, I don't fucking care that you came here to tell me to my face. You haven't even spoken to me after finding out about my family. How can you make up your mind about me, if you only have information from a goddamn computer?" He states through a clenched jaw.
"What are you talking about?" I ask, still leaning against the door. "What do you think I've come here to tell you?" He looks hurt and angry—wait, does he think I've given up? That I want to end things officially?
