Page 10 of Goose's Wren

Chapter 3

Goose

As if my thoughts fromthe last couple of days conjured her from thin air, she walks into the shop like she owns the ground under her feet.

Something about her just feels...off.Tense.She’s holding her chin high, shoulders squared with sunglasses hiding most of her face.Like she’s wound too tight, and it wouldn’t take much to make her snap.

I know immediately she’s hiding something and trying her best to act like nothing’s wrong.Like she’s just here to pick up her bike and be on her way.

I wipe my hands on a rag while walking slowly over to the counter where I left her keys.I just grunt “bike’s done” and hold them out.

She takes a step forward, that carefully composed mask still in place as she reaches for them.

But as she does, the sunlight shifts through the shop window, catching her face in just the right light.She tucks her hair behind her ear at the same moment and for a split second, her sunglasses slip down the bridge of her nose.

That’s when I see it.A bruise blooming across her cheekbone that she has tried to hide beneath concealer and attitude.

My eyes turn into slits and freezes before yanking her glasses back up as if maybe I didn’t catch it.Like she could erase it.But it’s too late.

Everything inside me turns cold and sharp.I feel an unexpected rage at the thought that someone could do that to her.

“Who the fuck did that?”

My voice is low, tight.Controlled in the way a storm might be calm right before it tears your house off the foundation.

She stiffens instantly as I reach out and catch her wrist gently, but firm enough that she knows I’m not letting this go.

Her eyes flare behind the dark lenses.Her whole body goes rigid at my touch.

“Wren,” I say again, softer this time but no less serious.“Who did it?”

She jerks back out of my hand like I burned her.“It’s none of your damn business, Goose.”

I take a step back, hands up, but my jaw’s clenched so hard I hear it popping in my ears.

“Bullshit,” I grit out.“You think I’m just gonna stand here and let you say some shit like that?After knowing you for so long?You think I’m gonna let someone put their fucking hands on you and walk away from it?”

She doesn’t answer.Just stands there, trembling slightly, clutching her bag like it’s some kind of shield.

“I’m fine,” she mutters.“I just want my bike.”

“You’re not fine.”

Her jaw sets.“It’s not your problem.”

I take a slow breath.I know that tone.It’s shame.It’s fear.It’s someone who’s been made to feel like speaking up will only make it worse.

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