Page 148 of Severed Rivalry
“Can I borrow your place in Aspen?”
“Anytime. Keys are still old school. We’ll go digital eventually, but you know Christian.”
“I do.”
“I’ll drop them off tomorrow. That work?”
“No rush. Just thinking about exploring while you’re away. It’s okay if I take Eleanor?”
“Always. You know that.”
“Thanks, sis. See you tomorrow.”
“See you then.” She disconnects just as I’m turning into my driveway.
Sariah
The beeping of the digital door lock is scary and comforting. No one can get in who doesn’t have the code, but the shrill beep still jars me at times.
My anxiety levels have never been low. Now they’re always a hair trigger away from panic attack.
“Honey, I’m home.”
At least that man can always put a smile on my face.
Eleanor leaps from the sofa at my side and skids toward her favorite human. “Hi, Eleanor. Have you been a good girl?”
“You know she has.”
He comes around the corner, his arms full of vivid color and something reflective.
“What do you have there?” But I already know. This man. Could he get any better?
“I stopped by your other house to pick up a few things.” Hesets some items on the island before dropping Renée’s folded comforter on the sofa near me and leaning down to give me a chaste kiss. He lingers, eyes open. “Hi, Angel.”
I exhale. Sometimes I have to force it—breathing… tamping down the panic. Other times it comes naturally. The only time I don’t have to think about it is when he’s with me. “Welcome home, Ci.” I drop my eyes shut and breathe in his soapy, woodsy scent. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“One more load. Be right back.” He kisses my forehead and heads back out.
He returns with another handful of framed photos and a bouquet of pink peonies. There’s been a bouquet on the bedside since we got here. This bunch, though, is huge. He places them on the center island before setting the pictures near it.
“What’s all this?” I point to the photos.
“Have you found us a new house?”
“I’ve been… otherwise occupied.”
His warm palm slides into mine. “I know. And I’m not pushing, Angel, but until you do—or I can if you’d prefer that—we need to make this place a home. Your home. Our home. Renée needs to paint walls or put up posters. She certainly needs to have some color in that room that’s way too demure for who she is. She’s vibrant and that room is… dull.”
“It’s adult,” I correct.
“And she gets to be a kid.” He pauses, peering down the hall as if he has X-ray vision. “How’s she holding up?”
“She’s not saying much.”
“Think she’d talk to Ayla?”
I tilt my head. “It’s worth a shot. She needs to get it out. And she needs to let it rip with someone who won’t judge. She knows I’ll react. How could I not? I mean—” I cut off my own words. The verbal floodgates of repeated circular logic are real… and pointless.
