Page 81 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

Angry or not, sad or not, I need answers. And if there’s betrayal at the end of this road, I’ll face it head-on—with these two by my side, come hell or high water.

Logan nods and gets to work deleting photos, me watching over his shoulder. I note that most of the images are of Allie on her date with Jason. There aren’t many of me. “I don’t have any of your son,” he says. “But there. No more kissing photos.”

“All right then, let’s go,” Hunter says, gripping the kid’s arm and hauling him to his feet. Hunter has Logan out the door and loaded into his car in moments.

As the roar of Hunter’s engine fades into the distance, silence settles over the room like a heavy quilt. Griffin’s gaze bores into me, his hand resting on my shoulder. “So…you and Allie, huh?”

I shoot him a look. “What about it?”

He holds up his hands. “Last I checked, she was only a client.”

I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. “It just…happened. Her date tonight was a disaster. And then I drove her home and…” I trail off with a shrug.

Griffin’s brows lift. “So it was more than just a kiss?”

“You don’t actually expect me to tell you all that, do you?” Griffin has known me for years. “When have I ever been the kiss-and-tell type?”

His expression softens. “Never. Listen, I know how tough it is to open yourself up again after…everything. But this thing with Allie? You gotta be careful, brother. We don’t know her real motives yet. And with Duke to think about...”

My jaw tightens at the mention of my son’s name. Griffin’s right. I let my guard down too easily, let myself get pulled in by big hazel eyes and infectious laughter. But now, with these new suspicions swirling, I don’t know which way is up anymore.

“I know,” I say quietly. “My priority is Duke, always. It’s just...”

“Your heart got tangled up before your head could stop it?” Griffin offers. “I get it. She’s beautiful, no question. And if she makes you happy...”

“Made,” I correct him. “Past tense.”

“You don’t know anything for sure yet,” he says gently.

I snort. “Oh come on. Her editor sent a kid to take photos of us while out, then stalk my house. That’s not exactly a sign of innocence. Even if she didn’t have anything to do with that specifically, something is going on here.”

Griffin chews his lip. “Okay, that’s pretty damn suspicious. But we need more intel before we make anyjudgments. And maybe keep things on the DL with Allie for now.”

He’s right, as much as I hate to admit it. I trusted her too quickly, let her get too close.

Griffin sighs. “I don’t want you to miss out on a great woman because you’re too suspicious either.” He crosses slowly to the door. “Talk to her,” he adds before leaving my house.

I spend the entire night pacing my living room, continually going over in my head what the hell happened with Allie. The cold light of dawn filters through the blinds, casting a lattice of shadows across the room. It’s too quiet, the kind of silence that creeps under your skin and sets up camp. I’m pacing now, the floorboards creaking beneath my weight as I try to outrun the thoughts chasing me.

I clutch my phone where Allie has sent me a few text messages asking if I’m okay. Checking in. I can’t bring myself to respond with any length yet. I merely sent her a quick,Everything’s finein response.

I can still see Allie’s smile, the one that made me think maybe, just maybe, I could have a different life—a normal one with birthday parties and family barbecues. Duke’s laughter echoes in my mind, a sound that used to be the sweetest melody. Now, it’s a haunting refrain, reminding me of what’s at stake.

My heart feels like it’s being squeezed in a vise. The anger, yeah, that’s there—a fiery beast clawing its way through my chest. But underneath that? There’s this gut-wrenching sadness, the kind that feels like you’ve been hollowed out and left empty. Who’d have thought Thatcher Bryant, tough-as-nails soldier, could get sucker-punched by his own feelings?

“Dammit,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face. Thestubble there scrapes against my palm, grounding me back to the here and now. I should be mad, furious even, but instead, there’s this ache, this hole where dreams of soccer games and weekend pancakes used to live.

“Answers,” I demand of my reflection, fierce despite the turmoil. “We’re gonna get some damn answers.” And with that, I grab my jacket off the hook, the fabric rough against my fingers—a sensation that’s real, tangible, unlike the swirling mess inside my head.

There’s a fire burning within me, fueled by betrayal and the sting of vulnerability, and I’ll be damned if I let it consume me without a fight.Confrontationisn’t just a word; it’s a catalyst for change.

And it’s time to make this change. I just hope it’s for the better.

“Let’s go unravel this mystery,” I tell the morning, stepping into the light, uncertainty my unwelcome companion.

“Time to face the music, Thatcher,” I say to my reflection in the window. It’s a grim picture—the determination etched into my face, the green eyes that used to hold a spark now dulled by betrayal. But there’s a fire kindling there too, a resolve to uncover the truth, no matter how ugly it may be.

“Let’s see if this house of cards you’ve built can withstand a little wind,” I whisper, the promise hanging in the air as I grab my keys and head out the door.

---