Page 90 of Property of Bones

“Sunny?”

“I want you to pull your head out of your leather-clad butt,” I mutter.

“Decaf it is,” he says dryly, then heads down the hallway.

The silence he leaves behind feels like something fragile.

I squeeze Abby’s hand again, gently this time. “Sorry. I was trying to be funny, not… pushy.”

“You weren’t wrong,” she whispers, still staring straight ahead. “Hedoeslove me. I can feel it. But he acts like I’m this glass doll on a high shelf. Too broken to touch. Too fragile to keep. And he always uses my brother's position as an excuse.”

I lean my head against hers. “Then maybe it’s time to jump off the shelf and land in his lap.”

She lets out a watery laugh. “You think that’ll work?”

“Oh honey, if you land in his lap, you’ll get a reaction. The question is what you’lldowith it.”

She finally looks at me, eyes still glassy, but now full of fire. “I don’t want him to be with me out of pity.”

“And he doesn’t want to be the reasonyoufall apart. But love doesn’t come with guarantees. Just chances. And I think you both deserve one. And if he doesn’t get over his crap soon, maybe it’s time you moved on. Don’t wait around for him forever. No one is worth a lifetime of loneliness and heartache.”

Before she can answer, Tank rounds the corner again, two coffees in hand and a storm in his eyes like heknowswe’ve been talking about him.

I stand and stretch like I’ve been minding my own business this whole time. “Oh good, coffee. Did you bring extra napkins? I might cry if this isn’t sweet enough.”

Abby chokes on a laugh.

Tank arches a brow. “You cry over unsweet coffee, but not cracked ribs?”

“Cracked ribs don’t destroy my soul. Bitter coffee does.”

I wink at Abby as I sit back down.

This conversation isn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

“Don’t overstep, baby,” Jack whispers, his voice low against my ear. “He can only fight this feeling for so long. Let them figure it out.”

I want to argue.

But he’s probably right.

Still doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop.

Abby’s my friend. I’m not about to let her live in a state of constant sadness just because the fire-breathing dragon is too afraid to touch the pretty princess.

“Abigail Turner?”

We both turn as her name is called, and Abby lifts her chin.

“Can my friend come with me today?” she asks, motioning toward me. “If she doesn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” I say, already rising to my feet.

“Well,” the therapist says, looking mildly unsure, “we don’t normally allow guests without prior notice, but I suppose it’s okay this time. However, your brothers will need to stay out here.”

“That’s okay,” Abby says, tugging me by the hand. “They already know that.”

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