Page 159 of Tangled Kisses
Please God, not right now. I don’t have the strength for her sharp tongue or sly remarks.
Her gaze drifts to the scarf knotted around my throat, then up to the oversized sunglasses. She tilts her head. “New look?”
“Something like that.”
My weight shifts awkwardly onto my good leg. The other still aches, my knee stiff from the fall, and the rug burns sting every time the fabric brushes them.
Before I can retreat, Sabine closes the distance and engulfs me in a gentle hug, careful not to squeeze too tight.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, her voice oddly soft. “I’ve had to adopt that kind of look once or twice myself. Are you okay?”
I swallow hard. “I will be.”
“It takes time. Fucking bastard. Let’s hope karma catches up with him.”
“Doubtful. Money buys protection.” I point out the window. “Where’s Griffin?”
Sabine shrugs. “He’s been in Portland for the last couple of days. That’s all I know.” She squeezes my hand, lingering. “Your sister’s out with a client, but she should be back in a few hours. In the meantime—if you need anything, let me know.”
“Thanks.” I force a nod, but inside my chest, panic climbs.
Griffin is in Portland.
The only person he knows in Portland is Lauren. The day Vander showed up, Griffin had gone to pick her up.
My thoughts spiral, wild and relentless.
Has he been with her all this time? Staying in her bed while I was trapped in hell? Did he believe I’d chosen Vander, that I’d used him, that I was nothing more than another warm body? Did he go back to the woman who always wanted to marry him, the one who was steady and unbroken?
I press a shaking hand to my chest, drag in a breath.
Even if he did, Reese, you can’t begrudge him happiness. He deserves it. He’s always deserved it. Even if it’s not with you.
I repeat the words on a loop. Like maybe if I say them enough times, they’ll stop tearing me apart.
An hour later,I’m curled up on the sun porch with Chowder.
He’s sprawled on the top perch of his cat tree like some spoiled sultan, orange fur glowing in the late afternoon sun. I drag the brush through his coat, each stroke a small comfort, the steady rhythm soothing the frayed edges of my nerves.
The cat tree faces the window, and that’s when I see it—Griffin’s truck rolling up the drive.
My breath catches. “Griffin’s home,” I whisper, setting the brush aside. “I need to go talk to him, okay?”
Chowder cracks one amber eye, gives me the most judgmental side-eye a feline has ever managed, then lets out a short meow.
“Yeah, I know.” I rub his ear, my voice small. “He doesn’t like me very much right now. I said some things I shouldn’t have.”
Chowder licks his paw and goes back to ignoring me.
“Well, I’m glad you’re concerned,” I mutter, dropping a kiss on the top of his head.
I force myself to the kitchen on trembling legs and put together a basket of food. A bottle of wine. Cheese. Crackers. It’s my clumsy attempt at a peace offering, something to share while I grovel for another chance.
If another chance is a possibility at this point.
At the last minute, I duck into my room and grab the ridiculous moose pajamas I picked up in Hollow Creek, tucking them on top of the basket. A hopeful gesture. Or maybe a foolish one.
“No matter what,” I whisper to myself, the words shaky but determined. “It’s going to be okay.”
