Page 59 of Crossing the Line (Whitecap)

With one last hug, Luna turned on her heel and headed down the walkway, waving over her shoulder on her way to her car.

I waited in the opened doorway just long enough for her to start the engine and put the car into gear. Then I shut the door and locked up. I killed all the lights before heading down the hall to my bedroom. I froze at the sight of my rumpled bed and the smell of clean laundry and pine trees.

The bedroom had Trent’s stamp all over it. No way I was sleeping in there tonight. Instead of moving to the living room, I went to Renee, shifting her sleeping form aside so I could crawl into her bed with her and cuddle her against me. Then I slept like the dead.

* * *

Luna

Sawyer—no,I needed to remember that wasn’t her name anymore. Cheyanne hadn’t blamed me for being hurt. Not that I was surprised. The woman had the biggest heart of anyone I’d ever met, possibly to a fault. But that didn’t mean the fault didn’t lie with me.

Well, me and that stupid prick, Trent, that was.

Casting one last look at her house in time to see each light inside extinguish, I shifted into drive with the intention of heading home. But before I even took my foot off the brake, my mind changed, and instead of turning my car toward my house, I went straight to a house I’d only visited once in recent weeks.

I wasn’t surprised to see that the lights of Trent’s rental were burning bright. After what he’d done to my best friend today, he was probably inside, drowning his sorrows at losing the best woman on the face of the earth. As he rightly should.

After what Cheyanne had told us tonight, I wanted to hate him, Ireallydid. But for some unfathomable reason, I just couldn’t. And it was driving me crazy.

As much as I loathed admitting it, I was with Georgia and Monica. The dude had fucked upbig time, but I didn’t think he did it to be cruel. I honestly believed down to my soul that he loved her.

But he still had to pay. At least a little bit.

I didn’t bother shutting off the engine as I climbed out and stomped up to his front door, pounding my knuckles against the wood over and over, in rapid succession, until it finally opened a minute later.

The instant his stupid, chiseled face came into view, I balled up my fist, cocked my arm back, and let it fly, punching him right in the face so hard his head snapped backward.

“That’s for hurting Sawyer—Cheyanne—whatever—you dick.”

“Fuck me,” he grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose and tipping his head back. “Christ, that hurt. Am I bleeding?”

“No,” I snapped unhappily. “Which is very disappointing. Now my hand hurts and you’re fine.”

He scrunched his face a few times and pulled air in through his nostrils. “Yeah, well, if it makes you feel better, I guarantee I’ll have a hell of a bruise tomorrow.”

It did, actually, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

“You deserve it,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I know,” he replied on a sigh, sagging against the doorframe in defeat. “How is she?”

“How do you think she is, you dumb son of a bitch?” I threw my arms wide before slamming my hands down on my hips. “She’s a fucking mess, thanks to you.” Then I got down to the real reason I was here. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, because I should hate your guts and wish some sort of penile infection that will never go away on you, but you better find a way to fix this shit.” I jabbed my finger in his face, taking joy in the fact that his nose was swelling up before my very eyes. “For some reason, that woman loves you, and even though she says she doesn’t want anything to do with you now, something tells me that’s not going to last. So you better pull out all the stops to make this right, or so help me God, I’m going to haunt your dreams for the rest of your life. You get me?”

He stared at me earnestly before nodding his head one time. “I get you.”

“Good. Now go put ice on your face and come up with a game plan.”

On that, I whipped around and stormed back to my running car.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Cheyanne

I droppedRenee off at daycare early the next morning, but the second I stepped into Warren’s General Store, Desmond and Georgia were there, gentle hands spinning me around and pushing me back out with orders to take a few personal days for myself. Normally a job like this didn’t really come with sick time, but the Warrens were all about taking care of their people. And that was what they were trying to do with me when they refused to let me work my shift.

With nothing else to do, and the house too damn quiet for my sanity, I changed into my ratty clothes and headed to my workshop, hoping it would help to empty my mind, at least for a little while.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. The clay didn’t seem to want to cooperate this morning. Every time I formed it into some semblance of a shape, it would cave in on me, over and over again until I got so frustrated I smashed the wet clay in my hands, squeezing it through my fingers before punching the ball.

---