Far Love (Book 1)

32 | Unveilings

November 1st, 2023

"Can we talk about some stuff please?" he asks.

I nod, "I'll be there in a second."

He just walks to a table and sits down in a chair, looking way to big for the table.

I wait patiently for my fries at the front of the Wendy's, happy to wait an eternity for these fries.

But sadly, at some point, the lady from earlier comes to the counter and puts a bag on the counter, "Your fries."

I smile to be nice and even say thank you before I turn around. His eyes were on me the whole time. I could feel them, but now that I'm turned toward the dining area I am forced to look at him.

He's wearing jeans, a white tee and a pair of green converse. It's way more casual than he usually dresses. Or maybe I never really saw how he dressed because I didn't get to see him a lot. My mind flashes back to when I first saw him at my apartment in LA. Even then he was wearing something nicer.

I reluctantly walk over to the table and set my fries on the table, no longer hungry.

He stares up at me as I stare back down into his blue eyes. I remember how I fell for him again. Not just the beauty of this man, the way he carrie's himself--the way he looks and analyzes things.

Sitting, I clasp my hands on the table, no longer worried about camera capturing us together. I cared about his reputation, but apparently I have a boyfriend now so why would the press make something of it.

My eyes finally break from his as I see someone staring at us, and then I feel scared again.

"Hey," he leans forward his hand snaking across the table like he wants to touch me, but he doesn't.

I look at him again and my nerves go away again. This man. If he was mine, and not Madison's I'd run right into his arms to feel safe whenever I don't. But I'm not his, and he's not mine. Not anymore.

"What's this all about Dylan?" I ask forwardly. I lean back and cross my arms. Inside I'm throwing up.

His face changes like he's hurt, then he too leans back and says, "I want to know why you left and blocked me, then all of a sudden you're in Oregon. And I want to know why you hid who your real parents are. Why did you lie about them dying,"

I slam my hand on the table, eyes looking over at us. I swallow and train my eyes on his, "I told you my mom died, not my dad. And for your information, I didn't tell you because I didn't feel safe with anyone knowing."

He looks confused, anger still in his eyes. "What the hell does that mean?"

"My father is fucking Matthew Monroe. He always makes himself look like the good guy when he gets into it with other celebrities. But I think you know that," I narrow my eyes at him. I contain all the other words I want to spit out at him. Even when I'm mad at him I feel like telling him everything now.

"Know what? That he is a good guy? Do you know how many charities he's donated to in the past seventeen years? You wouldn't because you chose to run away. Like you chose to run away as soon as things started to get real between us. Is that the problem?"

I kept eye contact with him the whole time, but now that he's done, I look down at the fries on the table and start to pick at my finger nails.

"That's not true." Am I imagining all those missed called and the ways he ignored me for a month?

"How would I know that?"

"Yeah, you're right, you didn't pick up your phone once when I was trying to survive everything coming down on me. I thought I could come to you for anything, but as soon as I tried to, you ignored me." I look him in the eye, "Did you just feel like not caring anymore? Because if you didn't, whatever, but I'd like a warning." A warning like when my father left me at school that one day in third grade.