Page 94 of Wish I Didn't Want You Back

My question was answered when she ran into my arms and folded her small frame against my body.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” I said, wrapping my arms around her and burying my face in her hair.

“You wouldn’t have been in a fight if it weren’t for me.”

I tightened my hold on her. “Do not apologize for him.”

She sniffed and curled deeper into my chest. “He isn’t going to let this go. This is so unfair to you.”

“Stop.” I pulled back to look into her eyes. “He threw the first punch. He started it, but I’m going to end it. I will find a way, I promise you that.”

She wiped at her eyes. “But he hurt you.”

I smirked. “I’ve been hurt worse in a pillow fight.”

She pressed her cheek to my chest and stared at my bruised knuckles. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m a big boy,” I said, trying to reassure her. “Once we’re legally married, he has no more leverage.”

She stepped back. Her eyes swept over me before bringing my swollen hand up to her lips. “You really got him good, huh?”

“I would have liked to have gotten in a few more punches, but yeah, I believe I gave him a lot more than I got.”

She shook her head. “Come inside. I’ll get you cleaned up. Your hand needs ice, and I want to tell you about my conversation with Molly.”

“Harlow, I’m fine.”

She scowled, like she didn’t believe me, and pulled me through the door. Diesel came running up and dropped a tennis ball at my feet.

Harlow picked up the ball and set it on the kitchen table. “Not now, Diesel.”

It was the first time I’d ever seen her make him pout. I guess she wasn’t in the mood to play games tonight.

I gave him a quick pat on the head as she pushed me into a kitchen chair. “Let me get you an ice pack.”

She started rummaging through the freezer. My hand hurt, but nothing too terrible. I could tell she needed to do something, so I let her fuss over me if it made her feel better.

“I made dinner,” she said, applying the ice pack to my knuckles.

I lifted my head in surprise. “You cooked?”

“Sort of.” She shrugged and walked over to the sink to grab a wet washcloth.

“What did you make?” I asked, staring at the stove. It smelled like fish. Now, I was nervous. Harlow wasn’t known for her culinary skills. She was better at making spreadsheets than supper.

“I picked up some salmon at the store earlier.”

My gaze lifted to hers. “You bought salmon?”

She grinned, looking proud of herself. “I did.”

I scratched the side of my head. “You know I have fish in the freezer in the garage, right? Free fish that I caught with my own hands.”

She rolled her eyes. “It was a last-minute decision, and I didn’t want to bother with thawing out frozen fish. I wanted fresh.”

I bit my tongue and kept my thoughts to myself. “Can’t wait to try it.”

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