Page 56 of When the Smoke Clears

“Pardon?” His grin widens, and I’m positive his phrasing is deliberate and not a normal speech pattern for him. “I’m just saying, a cute thing like you should be locked up tight.” I open my mouth to respond when he adds, “I bet you’d be even prettier if you smiled.”

He takes a half-step forward and instinctually, I reach for Sutton’s gun tucked into the waistband of my pants.

The man’s pupils dilate. He freezes and his grin drops, but his brain is obviously malfunctioning because the falter causes an awkward grimace as he stares at my reaching arm.

My hand stills at my back, my fingers flush against the butt of the gun. I realize my reaction too late; my response is to immediately defend myself. I leave my hand where it is. “Why don’t you just fuck off.” My voice isn’t as harsh as I want it to be, but somehow this fucker gets the clue.

His hands raise in supplication. “Just having a little fun.” His weight shifts backward as his eyes return to mine, and he begins to back away.

“Well, I’m about to have a little fun if you don’t fuck off.” I enunciate the last two words, staring him down as he turns to cross the street, repeatedly checking over his shoulder at me.

My heart races in my chest. Was I really going to pull a gun on a guy on a street corner for hitting on me? He was a massive creep, but it didn’t warrant my reaction.

I swallow thickly, adjust my sweater, and hurry to my Jeep. I need to get to the ranch.

Chapter 19

Sutton

Asobbingsounddrawsme from sleep. Although Maci hasn’t been sleeping well, she hasn’t cried, so the sound is disorienting. “Firecracker?”

I sit up and look around the pitch-black room. She isn’t in the bed with me, and even as my eyes adjust, I don’t see her on the couch or throughout the room.

Her crying turns to sniffles, and it registers that she’s between the bed and the closet. I roll over her side of the bed to slide onto the floor and scoop her into my arms, leaning my back against the bed. She readjusts, straddling me and tucking her arms between us and laying her head against my shoulder. I rock her side to side without saying anything.

Maci continues to draw new feelings out of me that I’m wholly unprepared for. Usually those new things are good. Since the incident with Colt, there have been more I’d rather not deal with. Like being completely useless at the hospital and terrified that I’d lose her. Now it’s like a punch to the gut that she’s crying on the floor by herself. Why didn’t she wake me?

She keeps trying to convince everyone she’s fine, but she’s struggling. Maybe she admits it even less to herself.

“I got you.” My fingers draw up and down her back in the slow, aimless way that she likes. I want her to open up to me, but I don’t want to push her. I want her to want to talk to me. In fact, I’m willing to bet she would normally. Something has her really fucked up.

When her breaths even out and she’s no longer audibly crying, I press my luck. “Nightmares?”

Her wet cheek presses into my chest as she shakes her head. She pulls back, wiping at my pec, because of course that’s her concern, and tucks herself against me again.

Having Maci’s skin on mine is like no other. Her body is a balm to my nerves, but not in this way.

“You want to talk about it?”

She takes a deep, shaky breath but holds it at first. “I killed him.”

I want to argue, to come to her defense. Even though what she says is true, it’s not like she did it on purpose. It’s painful not to object. But whatever she’s going through, she needs to get it out in the way that she feels it. Later, I can tell her how fucking wrong she is and why it doesn’t matter.

“I took his life. He’s dead because of me.”

My arms tighten around her. I wish I could send my strength straight through our limbs into her. When she doesn’t continue after a minute, I respond. “He’s dead because of choices he made.”

“He was sick.”

“Even if that’s true, that wasn’t your fault.” I kiss the top of her head. I don’t want to fight with her, but she may need someone to fight with. She’s mad at herself, but she needs to get out of her head.

Maybe that means drawing her out to argue with me. She can’t wallow in her self-deprecating grief if she’s angry with me. “You did what you had to do in the moment.”

She sits up, and I’m a little relieved at the fire I see in her as she says, “I could’ve tried harder to stop him. To talk him down.”

“There was no talking him down. His mind was made up when he got there.”

“But he didn’t have all the information when he showed up. He didn’t know about James.”

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