Page 129 of Holding On To Good

Still, he knew she was there, in the shadows, watching him approach.

Just like he knew that no matter why she’d come, he wouldn’t be able to send her away.

“You okay?” he asked, voice pitched low.

Nothing. No sound. No movement. Then her voice, whisper soft. “You went out.”

“Yes.”

He waited for her to ask where he’d been. Who he’d been with. Told himself he wasn’t offering that information because it wasn’t any of her business. Because he didn’t owe her any explanation.

He was a goddamn liar.

He wanted her to wonder. To worry. He wanted her to experience even just a fraction of what he’d gone through tonight, knowing she was out with another man. The uncertainty. The bitterness. The relentless jealousy.

But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t hurt her that way. Couldn’t be that big of an asshole. Not to her.

Never to her.

“I was at Miles’s,” he admitted into the taut silence.

Her exhale was a rush of sound. “Where’s Verity?”

“At Emory’s. She’s staying there tonight.”

Bella whined, as if understanding her favorite person wasn’t going to be coming home tonight. Urban crossed to the door, unlocked and opened it. His dog burst out, passed him by as if he was invisible and ran straight into the darkness. To Willow.

“Did something happen?” he asked, realizing she’d never answered his initial question. “With Calhoun?”

“You could say that.”

Hands fisting, stomach clenched, he stepped toward her, his eyes adjusted to the dark well enough now to make out her shape. The flash of her hair caught in the faint moonlight. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Nothing like that. I just…” She stood but kept her distance, remaining nothing more than a shadowy outline. “I know it’s late and I shouldn’t have come here but I wanted to see you. Wanted to tell you—”

“No.” He took a step back. “Not here. Inside.”

Inside where he could turn the lights on. Where he could see her.

Where she couldn’t hide from him.

Without waiting for her agreement, he stepped into the house then made his way from the floor lamp by Verity’s favorite armchair to the table lamps on either side of the sofa, flipping them on, one after the other, until the room was cast in a warm glow.

When he turned, she was standing in the doorway watching him, indecision in her eyes, as if she was about turn and walk away at any moment.

And he realized he’d made a mistake. Bringing them into the light. Because in the dark, he couldn’t see that she had on tight black jeans that hugged her hips and ass. Couldn’t tell that her top was the deep purple of a ripe plum and held up by two thin straps, the clingy material molded to her small breasts. Couldn’t see the pale pink she’d slicked over her lips, the smoky shadow and liner she’d put on her eyes that somehow made the green of them brighter.

In the light, it was too easy to see she’d tamed her hair so that instead of tousled and waving wildly, it was smooth and straight. Parted on the left, she’d slicked that side behind her ear, leaving the right side to sweep at an angle across her forehead. It was different and new and sexy as hell and his fingers ached with the need to stab into the tresses and muss them. To make her look like her again.

In that moment, Urban didn’t want to hear anything she had to say. Damn it, damn her, she was twisting him inside out. He’d spent all night thinking about her, wondering what she was doing. Had imagined her with Calhoun, sitting at some secluded table at Binge or Valley View Country Club, sipping a Yuengling or, depending on her mood, a rum and cola with extra lime. Sharing her smiles with the baker. Brushing her fingertips over the back of his hand when he said something that made her laugh.

Kissing the bastard.

Inviting him to stay the night.

She had no right coming here, looking like that, after going out with Calhoun. He was pissed off and jealous and pissed off that he was jealous. Christ, he was a grown man. Too old for games. If Willow didn’t want him, if she wanted to pretend there was nothing between them other than friendship, that nothing had changed, he’d go along with it.

Had been going along with it half their lives.

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