Page 82 of Bottles & Blades

Dumb maybe. But I haven’t survived and thrived this long without trusting my instincts.

Tiff is one of the good ones—I feel that in my heart, my soul.

“I trust you too.” Her voice is soft, but it’s edged with fatigue.

I’m not the only one who’s had a long day.

“Sleep, buttercup.”

“I need you to know that I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.” Her voice is sleepy, and it sounds like she’s about two seconds away from dropping off.

“I know,” I say, slipping my arm beneath her pillow, sliding my other one over her waist, and rolling us, tucking her against me as I settle onto my back. “But it’s time to sleep now, buttercup.”

I expect more words, or at least a minimal protest.

But she just settles in, her head on my shoulder, her arm draped over my stomach, her leg tangled with mine.

And I fall asleep to the thought that I’ve never felt anything sweeter.

Unfortunately,I don’tstayasleep.

The phone ringing pulls me out of my sleep, and I frown for a moment, not recognizing the sound.

Then realizing it’s because the call isn’t coming frommyphone.

Tiff is still sleeping, the warm weight of her body against mine the sweetest type of pleasure.

I don’t want the call to disturb her, so I shift carefully, reaching over her and snagging her purse, pulling out her phone, silencing the ringing.

It almost immediately starts right back up again, and I can’t help but see the screen.

See that it states “Mom” is calling.

“Dammit,” I whisper and make a split second decision, swiping my finger across the phone’s screen and lifting it to my ear as the call connects. “Hello?” I say softly, slipping out of Tiff’s embrace, moving to the edge of the bed and sitting up.

When there’s no answer, I repeat, “Hello?”

“Where is my daughter?”

It’s a screech, and it’s so fucking loud that I pull it away from my ear with a wince. “Your daughter is sleeping,” I say quietly, shifting off the bed and heading for the bathroom. But as I move that way, I glance toward the clock on my bedside table.

And rage begins to roil under my skin again.

“I want to speak to my daughter! I want to speak to her right now!”

I exhale quietly as I close the door. “I’m going to need you to take a breath and talk to me.”

“I don’t know who the heck you are, but I need to speak to my daughter! Right freaking now!”

“Is this an emergency?” I ask. My voice is calm, but only because I don’t want to disturb Tiff.

“Yes, it’s an emergency! Tiffany didn’t come by and cook me dinner tonight and what the nurse made is shit. She needs to come overright nowand fix it.”

I wonder how many times Tiff has dropped everything for her parents, for this fucking harpy, in the middle of the night…and my hold on the rage inside me threatens to loosen.

“It’s two-thirty in the morning,” I grind out. “I’m sure you have food in your fridge. Make yourself a sandwich or something.”

“Excuse—”

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