Page 73 of Heart of Frost and Scars

“You don’t like him because he’s attractive.” Her eyes flash with annoyance.

“Now I don’t like him.” I frown.

“Great,” she mutters.

“I don’t like him because I don’t trust him.” Monty straightens. “He’s too friendly with you, too eager to make you dependent on him.”

“God forbid I have a friend.” She throws her hands in the air. “You don’t trust anyone. Doyle knows my history. He understands me. And he doesn’t keep my unfinished drinks on his nightstand for nine months.”

He flinches but quickly recovers. “This isn’t about me. It’s about finding someone who can genuinely help you, not someone who wants to fuck you.”

“What?” She clambers from the bed, eyes on fire. “You think everyone with a dick wants to fuck me.”

“They do.”

“Are you hearing this?” She turns her anger on me.

If this Doyle guy wants to fuck her, I’m taking Monty’s side. But for now, I withhold my judgment and say nothing.

That only incenses her more, and she whirls back on Monty. “You’re so damn controlling. I need someone who can actually connect with me, not dictate what’s best for me.”

“I’m trying to protect you, darling.”

“I’m not your darling.”

“I want what’s best for you.” He grinds his teeth. “Even if you can’t see it right now.”

“And what do you think is best for me?” She pins him with the force of her glare. “You?”

He glares right back.

The room vibrates with the intensity of their argument, both of them too stubborn to back down.

Time to defuse the situation.

“You, back in bed.” I grip her arm, steering her there. “And you.” I point at Monty. “Shut the fuck up.”

He growls.

“Focus on getting through tonight.” I stand over him, folding my arms. “The rest will wait until morning.”

Leo returns with the first aid kit, instantly sensing the tense atmosphere.

“What’s going on?” He hands the kit to her.

“Nothing.” Her shoulders slump, her anger giving way to exhaustion. “Just Monty being…Monty.”

Monty releases a slow breath and pushes off the bed. “I’ll do this myself.” Grabbing the medical kit from her, he charges to the door.

“Wait.” She sits up, her movements shaky but resolute. “Stop. Please. I’m sorry.”

He reaches the threshold, not stopping.

“Always walking away from me,” she whispers under her breath.

At that, he pauses.

Turning back to her, he looks like he’s about to explode. “Frankie, I’m not—”

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