Page 129 of What's Left of Us

I’m sick of the lies.

Sick of the back and forth.

The push and pull.

Iwantto be done.

I can taste it—the end.

“Make it two hours,” is my only reply, ending the call before she gets the chance to argue.

Staring up at the ceiling, I realize how pathetic it is that she still has any hold over me. It’s been months since we fucked, and I haven’t felt the withdrawals of cutting her cold turkey.

But she always finds a way to slip back into my life when I least expect it.

I throw the blankets off my body and stretch my stiff limbs, wincing when my shoulder pops and a searing pain shoots down my left side. Hissing, I drop my head between my legs and suck in a deep breath to ground myself.

Counting to ten, I lift my head and force myself to get dressed. The pain holds on, and I decide it’s a good thing. It’s a reminder of what I’m walking into.

Don’t go.

My nostrils flare.

I can’t go back and change anything.

But I can make sure the people responsible for that day pay for the repercussions.

And I won’t let whatever Georgia has to say get in the way of that.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Lincoln / Present

Acoffee potappears out of my peripheral and refills my mug, snapping me away from the dissociative thoughts drowning out the mindless chatter of the diner. “You look like you could use a second cup along with a good night’s sleep,” the owner says, propping her hip against the edge of the table.

Humming, I bring the cup to my lips and sip the bitter liquid. “I could say the same about you, Sandy. I’m surprised you’re working the night shift.”

She sets the coffee pot on the table. “Didn’t have a choice. Two of my girls called out, leaving me short-staffed. But it’s no matter. It gets me out of the house and a break from the hubby.”

Chuckling, I sip my coffee. “As long as you have a plan.”

“Are you getting your usual?”

I dip my chin, checking my watch. “And a chicken parm panini and steak fries with a side of marinara sauce.”

The familiar order has Sandy’s brows rising with interest. “Ah. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the two of you in the same place together. Should I hide the knives?”

My lips twitch at the implication. “Don’t call the police on us yet, or I’ll never live it down at the station,” I muse.

She hums, interest coating her expression, but chooses not to say a word. Patting my shoulder, she takes her coffee pot back to the machine and puts our order in.

Ears perking up when I hear theclick-clackof heels on tile, I straighten my shoulders when my senses are filled with floralperfume. I only lift my gaze from my coffee when a body slides into the cushioned bench seat across from me.

One of my eyebrows quirks up when I see the oversized jacket wrapped around her, then to the silk scarf wrapped around her neck that hides half her face, before lifting my eyes to the brown hair tied back into an updo and out of her face.

“I wasn’t aware you were interested in undercover work,” I say, watching as she unbuttons her jacket and unwraps the scarf, hiding the bottom half of her face.

It’s the same scarf I used to bind her with months ago, making my lips twitch. An intentional choice?

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