Page 20 of Fighting For You
I’d heard it, and I’d ignored it.
And I’d successfully hurt us both.
Because on some level, my planhadworked. Being nearher was like stepping up to an open flame—not one blazing with grief, but with something else entirely. It was warm, then so much faster than I’d prepared for, too hot.Searing.The numbness that’d padded the walls of my mind and let me move about like a wraith the last while had been ripped away, and touching her hand, looking directly into her eyes, exchanging words with her… it’d burned me back into consciousness.
I couldn’t take it, hearing her say I’d ruined her life. Did she really still see it that way?
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but some part of me had slipped into the comfortable, lukewarm pot of believing she’d maybe not forgiven but at least moved on and simply hated me because I was an ass. And I was.
Instead, the water had turned up and up, and by the end of the ride home, I was cooked. She still boiled over with hurt and rage and I’d failed completely at making it better. I’d refused to accept the title of villain, but when I’d finally gotten the wherewithal to explain myself, it’d been too long. And she’d let loose.
She threw nothing but irritability and suspicion my way, always assuming I was trying to piss her off or get under her skin. I’d long ago surrendered to the fact that she wouldn’t engage with me on any level beyond simply tolerating me publicly and hating me privately. I’d avoided her, kept my mouth shut as much as possible, and wouldn’t force myself to beg her to give me the benefit of the doubt. If she wanted to hate me, then she could go right ahead. I wasn’t going to stop her.
At some point, I should probably apologize to her, but what would it gain?
She’d made clear what she thought of me. Why would I work to change that? Even if she was the only thing to makeme feel alive lately, why would I submit myself to her wrath when she would never see the truth? She’d told me as much.
And I’d never apologize because what I’d done was right and had saved her from something she couldn’t accept—she hadn’t married Kurt, who was a predator. Who knew what else he’d done I hadn’t been witness to. Who knew how many times he’d betrayed her.
I must’ve loosed a grumble because Bones’ purr stuttered and his front claws extended, pressing into my collar bone.
“About time for a trim,” I said, because if I didn’t say something and get out of my own head, I’d drown.
What I didn’t expect was a knock on my door—a little frantic-sounding. The cabin was basic on the outside, so I had no doorbell, though fortunately it had plumbing and all the necessities. The sun had set, and the driveway was dim enough I couldn’t see any cars, and with no porch light, whoever stood outside was a mystery.
Worse, I hadn’t heard the crunch of gravel or heard approaching footsteps, which meant I’d been way too far into my own head.
Never in my wildest nightmares or fantasies would I have expected to see Pop on the other side of the door when I swung it open.
I’d had more than one dream that started like this—they could go either way. But she never looked so subdued and wary. She usually showed up with eyes blazing and blades in words on her lips. In my dreams she usually came to fight or, a few times I loved and hated to remember, very muchnot.
Here in reality, her dark gaze was cagey, hair pulled back, arms already wrapped around herself and the sleeves of her dark green sweater almost completely covering herhands, shoulders hunched against the chilly fall evening. Shadows shaded her eyes and she had less color on her cheeks than usual, even in the dull light. Small snowflakes stuck to her shoulders and arms, and behind her the gravel drive and my truck were already coated in white.
My stomach dropped low.
I needed to talk to her, but not now. Not while I’d been scraped head to toe with large-grain sandpaper and was teetering on bawling my eyes out at any moment.
She didn’t belong here—she couldn’t be here.
I couldn’t handle her on some of my best days, and I certainly couldn’t right now. Grief had flayed me but I’d been working to heal, hoping maybe the work trip would aid it. Instead, it tore me open, dragging out too many longings and pains, and it’d all piled on top of me. I needed to stay buried here in solitude, to sip whiskey and talk to my cat and breathe air no one else shared. I couldn’t have her here, shoving all my wrongs, all I’d lost, all I’d wanted so much it’d gutted me for a time, into my face. It would end me.
My mind tunneled back to her standing on my doorstep so many years ago, eyes bloodshot and heart practically bleeding out from the injuries she’d convinced herself I’d caused. Any attempts I’d made to repair had only torn her open—tornmeopen—further.
So, no. I couldn’t do this now, not with her. Not today or any time soon.
“What are you doing here?”
Her big brown eyes shuttered and her brow pinched, gaze dropping to one side of my head, then the other—registering Bones, no doubt.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.”
What was she doing here? How did she even know whereherewas? Barbie and Stone were the only two peoplewho’d ever been to the cabin before. The others knew of it, but didn’t have the address. Pop definitely didn’t have the information, which meant Barbie had talked.
Impatience and the flash-flood rise of panic clipped at my heels. “Again, why are you here?”
She exhaled slowly, lips thinning and jaw tight. Clasping her hands in front of her, she leveled her gaze at me.
“I’d like to talk to you. May I come in?”
