Page 157 of Tangled Kisses
Mrs. Hale stands above them.
Above Vander.
Whitaker shoulders open the side door and steers me toward a sleek black SUV idling at the curb. The night air bites my skin, but I’m too numb to shiver.
The driver steps forward and opens the back door. Whitaker helps me into the leather interior, his touch careful, as if sensing my pain.
My fingers tighten around his forearm, the fabric of his sleeve crisp beneath my hand. “You saved me,” I stutter.
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Ma’am,” he says quietly, “I saved the Hale name. I protect the Hale legacy. That is my job.”
I study him through blurred vision, and the words he doesn’t say land heavier than the ones he does.
“You’re okay in my book, Jeeves,” I murmur.
His lips twitch, almost a smile. “Thank you, ma’am. You as well. Take care of yourself.”
Then he shuts the door, the finality like a seal closing over the night.
The chauffeur slides into the driver’s seat and adjusts the mirror, catching my gaze. “Ma’am, I’ve been instructed to take you home.”
I swallow against the copper taste in my mouth. “I think I need a hospital.”
He shakes his head once, as if that is not a possibility. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Strict orders. Home only.”
So much for medical assistance. “You know where it is.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I press my forehead to the cool glass, the city sliding past in a blur of lights. A whisper cuts through the fog of exhaustion: What if they’re not taking me home? What if this is the last ride I’ll ever take?
The thought dies almost as quickly as it forms. My body is too wrecked to hold on to fear. Darkness pulls me under before we leave the Hamptons.
When the SUV finally stops,a hand touches my shoulder. “Ma’am. We’re here.”
I blink awake to find my apartment building looming, quiet, ordinary, absurdly unchanged. Whitaker—or Mrs. Hale, I’ll never know—has made sure everything’s returned: my bag, my wallet, my keys. Everything but my phone.
Shit.
I’ll figure it out later.
Now, I just need to get inside.
It’s ironic. I kept this apartment when I left for Tangled Vines, certain I’d be back in a month or two. Turns out it’s my saving grace.
The driver steadies me to the front door, waits while I fumble beneath the mat for the spare key. My fingers shake so badly I drop it twice before I manage to shove it into the lock. The click sounds too loud, too final.
“Goodnight, ma’am,” the driver says. His voice is flat, impersonal.
The door shuts behind me, silence pressing in. I take two staggering steps inside my apartment before my knees buckle. My purse slips from my hand, the contents scattering across the floor.
I don’t bother to pick it up.
I collapse beside it, the cool hardwood against my cheek, and let the quiet swallow me whole.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Reese
