Page 92 of Conrad

“Can I get you something?” He turned on the overhead light, chasing away the puddled luminescence from the kitchen hood. He’d sort of preferred sitting in the dark.

“How about a reason why you called me a liar?” She had shed her jacket and now came in hot behind him.

Yeah, he’d left that exploded bomb in the entryway, rattled by her gape, her wide eyes. Maybe actually moved, curious, and painfully hopeful that Felicity had been the one lying about the fake-dating agreement.

But he didn’t want to stick around to see if hope won, because his chest already hurt. And he only had so much ice for the aches.

He opened the refrigerator and stared into the light, effectively hiding his face from her as he tried to school his response. “Water?”

Silence, and he grabbed the chilled water and closed the door. She stood, arms folded, at the end of his kitchen island, her jaw tight.

As if she might be trying not to cry.

He set the bottle on the counter. “So, even now you’re going to act like it wasn’t all a game?”

“A game?” She took a breath. “Ofcourseit was a game.”

Her words punched him, a straight shot to his sternum, and he couldn’t breathe.

“Of course it was a game.”

He shook his head, pushed the bottle toward her. “I’m such an idiot.” But he could hardly kick her back into the night, not in her current state. “Do you need me to call someone? Maybe the police?”

She just stared at him. “Why are you anidiot?”

He held up his hand.No.He wasn’t going there. Wasn’t going to admit that she’d completely duped him.

That he’d swallowed whole thehe’s my boyfriendcomment, let it sit in his heart.

Let it seed ideas.

“Who was this man who broke your window?”

His question played on her face for a long moment, and then she shook her head and reached for the water bottle. Opened it. “I don’t know.” She took a drink, set it down.

Her hand shook.

He looked away.

“He tried to run me over in the parking lot, but I got away, and when I snuck back to my car, he chased me down again and broke my window with a tire iron.”

Her words made him want to walk over, pull her to himself. But stupid impulses got him into trouble. He needed to take his own advice to Justin and think.

“Why?” he said instead. “Who would want to hurt you?”

“The same person who burned down my garage?”

He nodded.

“Who might be the same person who burned Beckett’s house, and Edward’s house.”

He folded his arms. “Right.”

She took another drink, tried to cap the bottle, missed, and the cap flew out of her grip.

Shoot.He walked over, picked it up from where it had landed on the floor, then touched her arm. “Let’s sit down.”

He swiped the ice pack from the counter.

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