Page 64 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

A legacy.

And my dad being better meant all of that was slipping through my fingers. I could try to hold onto it. But it would only slip away faster. Until there was nothing left.

I knew I was off after the visit with my father.

I could see it in the way that August’s gaze kept sliding to me, brows furrowed, curious or concerned, but not wanting to push me.

For a guy who was all about poking and prodding and pushing, he did seem to know when to just let me have my mood, allow me to process.

I needed it.

If this was the beginning of the end, I had to start to wrap my head around it. I had to steel my heart to it.

That heart?

Yeah, it had started to get all kinds of ideas about August. Things that could never be.

My life was here.

His was in Navesink Bank.

Besides, he would never want me for any length of time. Sure, he found me amusing now. Pressing my buttons, getting a rise out of me that inevitably ended with us being sweaty and spent.

But no man wanted that forever. I would grate on his nerves. Then he’d begin to resent me. Then want me gone.

It was always going to end.

I just hadn’t anticipated that it might end in heartache.

That was what this was, too, I realized as I rubbed a hand over my chest in the tub. Heart ache. It ached.

Because somehow this thing with August had turned from harmless fun, just a way to waste some time during a frustrating situation, to… something else entirely.

Now it was ending.

And it hurt.

And I didn’t know what to do about that.

I walked into the kitchen to find August washing out the milk carton. Then, gaze on me, he opened the drawer where the garbage was located, and tossed it in.

“Alright, what the fuck?” August asked, making me jolt at his tone.

“What?” I asked, distracted by my own sadness.

“I just tossed aplasticmilk carton in thetrashand you didn’t lecture the shit out of me about it,” he said.

“Oh, right. I’ll get it,” I said, moving toward the trash, only to have him snatch it out and put it in the recycling bin instead.

“The point is I should be getting a tongue-lashing right about now for being so careless,” he said, ducking his head. “What’s going on?”

“I, ah, I think I’m a little frazzled from the visit with my dad,” I said. It was mostly the truth.

“I don’t think you’re telling me the whole truth,” he said.

“Can we maybe just talk about it tomorrow?” I asked. Hopefully after I got a hold of my feelings. “I just want tea and sleep,” I added, opening the small box I’d grabbed from the shop when we’d packed up the coffee.

“Yeah, alright,” he agreed, but his brows were still pinched as he watched me heat up water in the microwave since there was no kettle, then drop in my teabag.

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