Page 39 of This Wild Heart

Anya brushed past me, and I swear, I tried not to stare at her ass as she preceded me up the stairs.

I tried.

An idiot I might be, but I’d never claimed to be a saint.

Anya found her water bottle and tipped it back to take a long drink, and my eyes lingered on the strands of hair still clinging to her neck. I blinked my attention back to her face.

“Did she see the article too?” she asked, worry clear in her tone.

I sighed. “I don’t know. All I know is she’s on her way here, and with those cameras parked outside, it’s not like I can lock her ass out, though the thought of it brings me so much joy, you don’t even know.”

Anya pushed her tongue against the side of her cheek, mind racing. “Okay, fine. I’ll go hop in the shower. We can do this. I’ve met Greer, so it’s not like she’s a stranger.”

I nodded.

Anya’s phone buzzed, and she let out a weary exhale as she glanced at the screen. Her mouth fell open. Her eyes widened, then shot up to mine.

My head reared back. “What?”

“Greer’s not the only one on her way,” she whispered.

“Who?”

“Emmett’s parents, Logan and Paige.” She muttered a curse under her breath. “They’re like grandparents, sort of. Paige has always been protective of me, but after the Max thing … it got a lot worse.”

I swiped a hand over my mouth, and my chest ratcheted tight with a quick pulse of anxiety. Logan Ward was the defensive coordinator for the Washington Wolves, and one of the most intimidating men I’d ever met, both on and off the field. And he hadnothingon his wife, Paige.

A memory flashed into my head of her dressing down a journalist for asking her husband a question she felt was … over the line. He left crying and hadn’t shown his face at any Washington Wolves games since.

My hand dropped. “We’re screwed, aren’t we?”

Anya’s eyes were huge in her face. “Quite possibly.”

Chapter 10

Anya

I took the fastest shower of my life, braiding my hair off my face before rooting through the closet in the guest room. I settled on denim shorts and a pale green shirt that made my eyes glow.

There wasn’t much time left, based on what Parker told me about Greer’s drive from Salem, where she lived with her husband, Beckett, and her stepdaughter, Olive.

My hands were shaking when I swiped on a coat of mascara because having to face Paige, of all freaking people, had my stomach in utter knots. Greer would precede them by about fifteen minutes because it was just my fucking luck that they were loaded and overprotective and could do things like charter a last-minute flight from Seattle to Portland to check on their honorary granddaughter to make sure she was okay after her dickwad ex decided to run his mouth to the press.

“Shit,” I whispered. “What are we doing?”

Why, why was it so much easier in Vegas when he laid this all out for me?

Sure, let’s make our families feel better.

What a fucking crock. A tiny voice in the back of my head whispered that we couldn’t do this. That if we failed today, everything would come crumbling down right on top of our heads.

My parents would know. I wouldn’t be able to access my trust. Helping Vida would be a pipe dream. And the embarrassment of having to admit what we’d done was more than I could stomach, especially after what that shithead pulled today.

No, I told myself firmly, staring at my own reflection. “You will not fail at this,” I said fiercely.

A wave of anxiety crashed through my brain, and I braced my hands on the counter, hanging my chin down while I tried to get my breathing under control. I stared at the makeup and face creams all over the counter while I tried to ground myself.

If there was more time, I’d have cleaned up all my shit.

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