Page 76 of Property of Tacoma
My eyes shift to Jagger. His fists are balled as he stares angrily at the paper on the island, refusing to look at me.
“I’ll come back,” I whisper, my heart twisting painfully in my chest. “It’s only for a couple of days.”
Jagger shoves his paper across the bar, jumps off the barstool, and storms out of the kitchen.
“Jagger! Get back here!” Tacoma drops his gaze to me, and I watch as the shutters come down over those beautiful blue eyes.
His face is unreadable, shutting me out.
Tears gather in my eyes, and I blink rapidly to keep them from falling.
Why does this hurt so much?
I’ve never had anyone care whether I stayed or went.
But these kids—this family—they’ve wormed their way into my heart in a way I never expected.
Saylor slides off her stool, comes around the island, and wraps her arms around my waist. “I don’t want you to go.”
Tacoma clenches his jaw.
He’s upset too; I can see it in the tightness around his eyes and the rigid set of his shoulders.
I hug Saylor back, breathing in the strawberry scent of her shampoo. “I know, sweetie. But I promise I’ll come back. And it’s only for a few days.”
Tacoma sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to check on Jagger.”
As he leaves the kitchen, Saylor tightens her grip on me. “You promise you’ll come back? Pinky promise?”
My throat tightens as I hold out my pinky to her. “Pinky promise.”
She hooks her tiny finger with mine, her blue eyes serious. “Grown-ups don’t always keep their promises. Like my mom.”
My heart shatters into a million pieces. “I’m not your mom, Say. When I make a promise, I keep it.”
She nods, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Okay.”
I turn back to the stove, trying to focus on dinner, but my mind is a whirlwind.
I’m torn between the job I need to do and the people who’ve become so important to me.
But I still have tonight.
I’m going to make the most of it, and then I’ll take care of what needs to be done in Georgia and return.
It’s fine.
Everything is fine.
Even as I think it, I have an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach.
What if I’m wrong?
Hot water cascadesdown my back as I tilt my head under the shower spray, trying to wash away the tension of the evening.
Dinner was a strained affair. Jagger barely looked at me, pushing his food around his plate more than eating it.
Saylor was subdued, her usual chatter noticeably absent.
