Page 113 of Fixing to Be Mine

“This can’t be happening,” he says to himself, to the car, to the universe. “Scratches? Dents? Who the fuck does this?”

I open the door. The sound of gravel shifts under his shoes as he turns and glares at me.

He’s already halfway to the porch, walking toward me like he’s got the right to be here. His suit is sharp, tailored for Manhattan, not Texas. The air-conditioning in the car is still running behind him, loud enough to break the quiet. He doesn’t glance around, doesn’t take in the house or the land or anything else that might remind him he’s out of his element. His focus is locked on me.

“Excuse me. I’m searching for someone,” he states. “Stormy Langford.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard anyone use her entire name.

Stormy steps up behind me. She doesn’t touch me, but she’s close enough to hear the way my breathing changes.

He sees her but his expression doesn’t soften. There’s no emotion in it at all, just expectation.

“There you are,” he says, like he’s greeting someone late for lunch.

His eyes shift to me, and I stay standing between him and whatever part of her he thought he could reclaim.

I cross my arms over my chest, and his posture stiffens when I stand straighter. He’s sizing me up, trying to figure out who I am and how much of a problem I’ll be. He gives me a once-over that’s meant to read as casual, but it’s too pointed to be anything but a warning.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he sneers, turning to Stormy. “You’ve been fucking him. What about us?”

Stormy doesn’t flinch. She takes a step out of the house with the baseball bat tight in her grip. I remember leaving it by the door.

Her expression is scrubbed clean, like she doesn’t have the energy to play a part for him anymore.

“What aboutus?” she repeats, then scoffs, her brows furrowing. “There hasn’t been anusin years.”

“Don’t do that,” he says, taking a step forward, reaching out his hand to grab her.

She lifts the bat and points it at him. “Don’t come any closer.”

I keep my feet planted.

“Don’t pretend like I was the problem,” Donovan says. “I knew that’s what you’d do, leaving me crying and heartbroken at the altar.”

“Choose your next words wisely,” Stormy warns. Her tone is sharp as broken glass.

He lets out an unpleasant laugh. “Real cute, baby. Come on. It’s time to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He glares at me. “What? You’re choosing thischild? This boy could never give you what you need and require.”

The dumb fuck is trying to provoke me, which is something he doesn’t want. However, I see through it and don’t take the bait.

I stare back at him because I don’t owe him a damn thing.

“It’s time to come home,” he says to her, waving her toward him. “We have a wedding to reschedule.”

“It’s time for you to go,” I tell him, knowing I could snap him like a twig.

I step out onto the first plank and put my arm around her possessively. My touch is solid. She wraps her arm around me and then smirks. It’s enough to break the calm on his face, giving me the same expression as Tessa did. He sees what Stormy and I share; everyone does. It’s electric.

His jaw tightens as he squares his shoulders. “You’re not thinking straight, Storm. You must be having one of your episodes. I’ll call Dr. Jacobson; we can talk this out?—”

She barks out a sarcastic laugh. “Are you really name-dropping my therapist right now? You’re a piece of shit.”

He flicks toward the bat that she pushes into his shoulder.

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