Page 105 of Junkyard Dog

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Alex tossed hisphone onto his bed in frustration, swearing as it bounced off the mattress onto the floor. He hefted his bed up and snatched his duffel bags from the storage underneath. “I don’t need this,” he snarled, yanking open his closet and slamming his clothes into the first bag.

I need to think about it.

He emptied his drawers onto the pile and zipped the bag closed, sliding it across the floor toward the door and opening the next one, ignoring his buzzing phone beside the bed.

He’d been so certain they’d turned a corner, so convinced when he left the tavern that Charlotte had made up her mind.

I need to think about it.

Knocking everything from his medicine cabinet into the bag, he shoved his wet towels on top and stormed into the kitchen.

He could head north for a few months. Maybe work alongside Bo for a bit until they dealt with the Pirithous. Head down to Hades for a few years, maybe make the trek back to Olympus.

What he couldn’t do was this.

It fucking hurt.

Scanning the kitchen, he packed all the sealed food into one cupboard for the next tenant, kneeling down to find a garbage bag for the rest when headlights lit up the trailer. He got to his feet, shoving the bags under the table to avoid tripping him up as he looked out the window.

Charlotte.

She was out of the car before the engine had a chance to shut off fully, one hand yanking the elastic from her ponytail while she knocked hard on his door.

He unlocked it, pushing the door open enough for her to fling it open as she stepped inside and pulled it closed.

“I don’t need to think about it.”

He crossed his arms and stepped back. “Not anymore you don’t.”

She tugged her phone from her back pocket, her chest heaving. “I’ve been calling nonstop for fifteen minutes.”

He bent down to grab the abandoned garbage bag and snapped it open. “And I’ve been busy.”

Her eyes darted around the trailer and she took another step in. “Alex.”

“I know,” he snarled, hurt and frustration overtaking his control. “You have questions. You want guarantees. You have reservations. Well, I have nothing more to hand over, Charlotte. You already have it all.” He leaned against the fridge. “Just go, okay? Text me when you get home so I know you made it safe.”

She held her ground, her dark eyes narrowing. “You’re angry.”

Running his hands over his face, he rolled his shoulders out. “I’m not angry,” he groaned, her proximity destroying whatever rage had been building. “Dammit, Charlotte. Can we just not do this anymore? Maybe just shake hands, go our separate ways, and chalk the past few months up to bad astrological signs or something?”

“Is that real, too?”

He dropped his arms. “Seriously?”

She walked up to him and intertwined her fingers with his, tightening her hold when he recoiled. “I’m sorry.” She reached up and pushed his hair behind his ear. “After you hung up, it hit me. All these questions I have? And trust me, there are a lot more than you can imagine. I want to ask them. But not like this.” She waved her hand over the chaotic mess of the trailer. “I want to ask them when we’re driving to the mall, or when we’re picking up groceries, or when I’m kicking your ass at the gym.”

She gave him a cheerful smile and scooped up his other hand, undeterred by his sullen silence. “Though no matter how many times I ask, I really don’t want to know anything about your trail of goddesses.”

He blinked. “What?”

“The goddesses notching your bedpost. I’ll ask, but you cannot tell.”

He stared down at her, his mind firing in fifty directions, none of them involving goddesses. “Seriously?”

She stepped up flush to him and released his hands, wrapping her arms around his waist and dropping her forehead to his chest. “You aren’t the only one with a jealous streak,” she mumbled into his shirt, nudging his arms with her elbows.

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