Page 33 of The Desperate Warrior

“Do I?” Her voice rose. “I thought I did. And then I had to find out at my sister’s wedding—from Charli and Fitz—that you were going back to Adrian.”

Regret twisted his face. “That never should’ve happened. I’m so sorry, Jules. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“Yeah, me too,” she said softly.

They locked eyes—him pleading, her defiant.

“If that’s the way you wanna play it,” he finally said.

“That’s the way I wanna play it.”

Chapter 9

Thunder cracked, rattling the windows and causing Jules to jump.

Moments later, hail pelted the house like endless pennies clattering from a jar.

“It looks like it’s getting bad out there,” Jules murmured, then cringed a little at how obvious the comment sounded.

“Yeah,” Brock agreed, eyes flicking toward the window. “Your dad mentioned tornadoes. Maybe we should check the weather forecast.”

“Maybe we should. With this kind of wind and hail, tornadoes are a definite possibility.” A shiver slid down her spine. Tornadoes were no joke in Texas.

She reached for the remote to turn on the TV but stopped when the doorbell rang. “Who shows up in the middle of a hailstorm?”

Brock crooked a dry grin. “It could be Luke coming back for round two with your cousin.”

Jules chuckled. “Well, if that’s the case, then he’s in for it. Nikki can certainly hold her own.”

“I hear that.” Amusement warmed his tone.

The doorbell rang again—sharper and more insistent.

Jules reached for her crutch, about to push herself up, but Brock raised a hand.

“Stay put. No sense in you getting up.” He stood. “I’ll get it.”

Before she could argue, he was on his feet and heading for the door.

It was so like Brock to take charge of the situation. He’d been here less than an hour and was answering her door like he owned the place. “Just great,” she grumbled to herself.

She heard the door open, and then Brock spoke. “How can I help you?”

There was a pause. “Um, is Jules home?”

“Yeah, she’s here,” Brock replied, his tone clipped. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m Dean. A friend of hers.”

Dean? Jules stiffened. Oh no. What was he doing here? Since the accident, he’d sent her half a dozen texts and called at least twice. She’d finally replied once through a text, hoping it would cool him off. But clearly, the man couldn’t take a hint.

“You mind if I come in?” Dean asked.

“Who are you, again?” Brock countered.

“Dean. A friend of Jules.”

“Fine,” Brock muttered. “Come in.”

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