Page 38 of Windlass

“Stevie.”

“You’re mad because you care,” Stevie said in a singsong voice.

“You—!” Angie finished the phrase with a frustrated shout and turned her back on Stevie.

This was why she couldn’t afford to let her control slip. She’d been emotionally all over the place since Stevie had stripped for her, first melting downtwiceand now screaming.

Caring hurt too goddamn much.

“It should buy you some time, though,” Stevie said quietly. “Assuming it holds.”

Angie huffed. Stevie could have fallen and broken any number of bones, including her neck. If she’d walked out of work to see Stevie crumpled in the grass— A sob raked her throat. “That is a rage sob,” she said, still not turning back around.

“It’s done, Ange, and we’re fine. I’m not saying you’re overreacting, but—”

She whipped around now. Images of Stevie lying broken on the grass bombarded her mind’s eye. “Stevie Ward, if you dare imply this is an overreaction, I am going to have to teach you some serious lessons about gravity.”

Stevie mimicked the sound of a missile falling.

“Just—growupfor a second and think about what I would have done if you’d gotten hurt.”

Stevie’s face slackened with surprise. “I didn’t—”

“You thought you’d get a thank you and—” And what, a fuck? Angie knew she certainly had acted like she wanted it. Well, Stevie could see if Angieeverlet her touch her now. Risking her life like that was idiotic. Worse than idiotic.

“IthoughtI was helping out my best friend.”

Angie tore her hands through her hair, trying to calm herself and failing. She worried so much about losing Stevie to her own poor decisions she’d never stopped to worry about Stevie’s.

“Help me by stayingalive.”

“Jesus Christ, Ange, people get on their roofs all the time. My dad did a lot of work on ours.”

“I asked you not to do it and if you’d gotten hurt I would never have forgiven myself!” she shouted. The house rang with silence in the aftermath; the words she did not—could not—say rang in her head.And I cannot let myself start depending on you because one day you’ll be gone, and I cannot survive that again. Stevie’s lips were pressed into a querulous line. If Angie stayed in the living room a moment longer she was going to kiss them with bruising force.

“Angie . . .” Stevie reached for her.

“I might forgive you tomorrow if you promise me you’ll never put yourself at risk like that again.”

“I work with large animals. Every day could be the day I get kicked in the head.” Stevie maintained a calm tone, but only barely. “Of course, I’d climb on a roof for you.”

Angie inhaled sharply, unsure if she wanted to laugh, scream, or cry. She hated feeling this out of control. Usually she’d call Lana, but that wasn’t an option anymore. What was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to stop her emotions from drowning her? Fucking meditate?

Stevie stood and plucked up a heavy couch pillow, holding it in front of her.

“Hit.”

“What?”

“Use this like a punching bag. Just hit the pillow, please, not me. I’ve seen you work a bag and it’s terrifying.”

“I am not punching you.”

“Not me. The pillow.”

Angie ripped the pillow from Stevie’s hands and screamed into it, a long, frustrated shriek that left her raw and empty.

“Feel better?”

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