Page 5 of Powerless
I huff out a breath and run my top teeth over my bottom lip, eyes totally fixed on her baby blues, so wide and pale and sparking with indignation. “Yeah. Has anyone else asked you?”
She drops my gaze, her hands planting against her cheeks before pushing back through her collarbone-length blonde hair. “No one has asked me.”
The teeth of my house key dig into the palm of my hand. “How did you meet Sterling?”
“My dad introduced us.” Her eyes fixate on the black sky. It’s starless, not like at the ranch where you can see every little fleck of light. Everything in the city feels polluted compared to Chestnut Springs. I decide on the spot to drive out to my place in the country tonight rather than spend another night breathing the same air as Sterling Woodcock.
“How does he know him?”
Her eyes meet mine. “Sterling’s dad is a new businesspartner of his. He’s focused on making new connections now that he’s back in the city.”
“And you’ve known this guy for how long again?”
Her tongue darts out from between her lips. “We met in June.”
“Five months?” My brow arches and I rear back. If they seemed madly in love I could buy it, but . . .
“Don’t judge me, Jasper!” Her eyes flash and she steps closer again. I may dwarf her in height but she’s not the least bit intimidated. She’s spitting mad right now. Mad at me. But I think that’s just because she trusts me enough to let her anger out, and I’m okay with letting her. I’m happy to be that person for her.
Her voice shakes when she adds, “You have no idea the pressures I live with.”
Without thinking twice, I pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her narrow shoulders. She’s all tense and riled. I swear I can almost feel her vibrating with it. “I’m not judging you, Sunny.”
Apparently, this isn’t the time for childhood nicknames.
“Don’t call me that.” Her voice cracks as she presses her forehead to my chest, like she always has, and I slide my palm down the back of her hair, cupping the base of her skull.
Like I always have.
I absently wonder what Sterling would say if he walked out here right now. There’s a petty part of me thatwantshim to.
“I’m simply curious how things happened so fast. I’m curious why I’ve never met him until now.” My voice is quiet, all gravel, almost drowned out by the hush of cars rushing past us.
“Well, it’s not like I have a lot of free time with the ballet. And it’s not like you’ve been in touch lately either.”
Guilt nips at me, making my chest twist. Our team came off a bad season, and I promised myself I’d train harder than I ever have during the off-season. “I was training and living out in Chestnut Springs.” That’s not a lie. My brother’s fiancée opened a hell of a gym there, and I saw no reason to spend my summer in the city. “And then it was training camp, and I got swept up.”
Also true.
The lie is that I was too busy to make time for her. I could have made time for her. But I didn’t. Because I knew her dad was back in the city, and I avoid him at all costs. And the announcement of her engagement gutted me in a way I never saw coming.
“I should have told you, not sprung it on you the way that I did,” she murmurs, and I brush away the memory of Violet blurting out the news of Sloane’s engagement at the ranch mere months ago. The way I instantly froze up inside. The way my heart dropped into my stomach with a heavy thud.
I swoop a hand over her head and give her shoulders a squeeze, still trying to avoid that warm, bare patch of skin on her back, and reply with, “I should have asked. I’ve just been . . . busy. I didn’t think your life would just . . . happen this fast.” And that part is true.
Her body relaxes in my arms, soft breasts pressing against my ribs as her fingers dig into my back. But only for a moment before she pulls away. The hug went on long enough that it was more of an embrace. It was toeing the line.
But I still want to pull her back in.
“Well, it is.” She stares down and brushes at the sleeve of her pale green dress, silky and shimmering in the shadowy light. “My dad and I agreed it was best to move forward with the wedding in the fall rather than drawing it out.”
That comment has my teeth clamping down because the mere mention of Robert Winthrop sets me on edge. And him taking part in her decision to get married has all sorts of alarm bells going off.
“Why?” My brow knits. I should know better. I should walk away. I should let her be happy.
I shouldn’t be this bothered. If she actually seemed happy, I wouldn’t be.
Or maybe I would.
