Page 81 of Just Say When

Fucking hell.

He was never going to let me live this down.

And of course he’d have to tell James why he was leaving in the middle of the night, and she’d call Essie immediately. Fuck. Not that I planned on keeping this from her—I’d caused a fucking cascade of problems from keeping secrets already—but damn. I would rather explain it tomorrow, in the bright light of day. Maybe I could bring her lunch at Lodestar and we could discuss it then.

AfterI had fixed everything.

That was the important part.

“Give me the phone,” I grunted. “I’m calling my brother.”

Mike sucked in air through his teeth with a low whistle. “Suit yourself, but in my experience wives?—”

I cut him off with a glare. “Give. Me. The. Phone.”

After the phone call was made, I went back to slouching on the lone bench in my empty cell. It was a slow night, though I suspected Tuesdays usually were. Thank God for small favors, or whatever.

Twenty minutes later, the station door opened. I couldn’t see the entrance from my cell, but I got to my feet, even though there was no way in hell Adam could have driven all the way here from the ranch in that time.

Mike bellowed a laugh. “Well, this is a surprise! How have you been, Essie?”

No.

Please, no.

“Well,” came that husky voice I loved so much, “I was doing much better before I got called down here.”

Fuck.

“I should say so,” Mike said cheerfully. “Come right this way, Essie.” He came into view and grinned at me. “See anything that belongs to you?”

I felt sick as he stepped aside and Essie saw me behind the bars. There was nowhere I could hide.

“Yes, that one’s mine, all right.” One dark brow arched, and her eyes bore straight into mine. “Hello, husband dear.”

32

Essie

For once, I didn’t want to fight.

Are you okay?I had asked as we buckled in.Fine, was his perfunctory response. We didn’t say anything at all after that. I dropped him off at the Painted Cat to collect his truck, since he had gotten a ride down to the station in the back of a cop car, and met him at home.

“How’s your wrist?” he asked gruffly as we changed for bed, his gaze on the floor. He hadn’t met my eyes since Mike unlocked his cell door.

“Tender.” I shrugged. “I took an ibuprofen for the swelling. It will be fine.”

The look on Brax’s face suggested he didn’t believe there was anything fine about this at all.

There was so much to say.So many emotions tumbling in my stomach. So many questions swirling in my brain.

Such as,what the fuck, Brax, didn’t I tell you to leave it alone?

Or,what the fuck, Brax, why do you keep fighting my battles for me?

Most importantly,what the fuck, Brax, how could you call Adam instead of me?

And then some good, old-fashioned screaming.

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