Page 117 of Come Back to Me

(It has. It’s just been skewed by the disappointment that’s life.)

“New York has a way of shifting your view on things,” is all I say. “There’s a whole world out there that doesn’t see talent; they see dollar signs. But I’m still awesome on the inside.”

His lips twist. “New York didn’t know what it had.”

“Perhaps. But I’m where I need to be. For the moment. And I mean it, Jamie. If you need anything, I’ll help where I can.”

“I appreciate the offer, Christy.” I know I lost his focus to Elena because his eyes trip over her face, like he’s the one with the memory problems. I back out of the room, leaving him to mourn a woman who’s still breathing.

Cody

‘For the moment.’

Her words are like a slap in the face.

Combine it with Bast’s admission about Elena believing Uncle Clay was murdered—two guesses who the fucking culprit was—this slow day has morphed from migraine-inducing to nightmarish.

When she steps outside the door, I query, “You ready to go, Tee?”

She nods but trains her eyes on her feet.

I want nothing more than to cup her cheek, tilt her head back, and force her to acknowledge my existence.

But I don’t.

She’s right to be angry with me. She’s right to be hurt.

And the worst thing is that not only can I not take back that night, I wouldn’t want to if I could.

It doesn’t even matter that I slept for eight hours after months of two to three-hour naps or that I slept easier with her than I have in years. That her cuddled against me, family land beneath us, the watering holes close by, the heavens above, was the most relaxed I’ve felt in decades…

What counts is that it led to me telling her who I am to her. It led to me facing up to something I was too much of a coward to deal with the day she rolled into my life.

I can fix what I did.

But only if she’s in Pigeon Creek.

If she returns to New York, we’re screwed.

That’s it.

Over.

We cannot be over.

There’s an uneasy silence between us as we trudge downstairs and pass through the hall of a home that I used to know as well as my own.

Outside, I find Bast by his truck, shoulders bowed with stress and grief. Newer lines that weren’t there the last time I saw him, when he wasn’t exactly happy thanks to fucking Sammy’s accusations, etch grooves into his cheeks, around his mouth, and between his brows.

“Your mom’s resting.” I clap a hand to the box. “Want me to send Ravenly & Daughters over with tires?”

He scratches his chin. “If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. See you tomorrow?”

He nods, but his attention darts between me and Tee. I roll my eyes at his knowing look—nosy bastard—and shepherd Tee over to my car.

“I’ll be speaking with Elena tomorrow,” I tell her softly. “If it’s a good day for her, that is. Would you…”

---