Page 54 of Tainted Tempos

I sigh and turn off my monitor, Bran’s name fading from the screen. Good fucking riddance. If only it was that easy to cut him out of Mckenna’s and my lives.

“I’ll see you in half an hour. Shower.” Jameson hangs up.

I drag myself from my bedroom and take a shower. The hot water wakes me up, and I shake the fogginess from my head. I still don’t know what time it is, but I’ve been searching for new insights in Bran’s folder for hours.

I feel sick when I think of Mckenna sitting in class with him. Or brushing shoulders in a crowded hallway. Or having to speak with him.

All I want to do is keep her safe. Protect her. Heal her. Fucking love her.

But with each passing day, the distance between us grows, and I don’t know how to close the space.

I don’t know how to fix this.

FIFTEEN

MCKENNA

“You’re avoiding me,”Branson accuses, sliding into the chair across from mine. “Even in class.”

I jump, my eyes darting around the library.

My heart rate gallops, my eardrums buzz, and nerves tingle in my fingertips.

It’s fine. I’m fine. There are people close by. We’re in a well-lit, bustling portion of the library. I can see other students; they can hear me.

I let out a slow exhale.

Bran’s eyes narrow.

I clench my hands into fists and tuck them into my lap. Then, I feign as casual as I’m capable of and arch an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

A slow grin cuts across his face but his eyes glint. “I heard you got married.”

I force my hand from my lap and flash him my ring. “I did.”

His smile slips slightly. “It’s for real? You’re really with Maverick Tate?”

The fact that he would assume otherwise unnerves me. “Happily.”

“Huh,” Bran mutters. A spark of unease crosses his face, and I like witnessing it. In the next moment, a mask of neutrality is firmly back in place and Bran averts his gaze.

When he does, my survival instincts kick in. If Bran is uneasy, he’s reckless. Dangerous.

I shiver from the realization and snap my attention to the textbook before me. “I need to study.”

Bran’s gaze lingers on the top of my head for three heartbeats. He makes my skin crawl, and my intestines twist. I keep my eyes trained on the blurring words and focus on my breathing.

Inhale. Exhale.

Don’t fidget, don’t tense.

Finally, he knocks against the table and stands. “Whatever, Mckenna. Be with your fucking rockstar husband. He’ll cheat on you eventually.”

Huh? I’m dumbfounded as Branson walks away.

Why does he care that I married Mav? Why does he have a reaction at all?

I grip the edge of my textbook and try to focus on the case I’m reading. The words run together, and I blink rapidly. My head swims, my mind frantically turning over theories.

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