Page 146 of Relentless

Before I can argue, Alana is on her feet and pushing me back.

She rushes into the house, and my overwhelming need to protect her—even if it only is from JD’s frustrations—ensures I follow right behind.

“What the fuck have you—”

“JD wait,” Alana calls as the man who’s caused the destruction flees from the room. “JD,” she cries when he fails to stop.

“Leave it, Dove,” he barks, a warning clear in his voice. “I’m not worth it.”

“What? Shit. Julian, stop please,” she begs as he takes off, his footsteps pounding up the stairs.

The floor beneath us vibrates with the power he puts into slamming his door.

“Fuck,” Alana curses, dropping her head into her hands.

“Just give him a minute,” I say, understanding his need for a breather.

Reaching for her hand, I tug her back into the kitchen. Also known as the disaster zone.

“What the hell was he doing?”

There is some kind of white sticky mixture everywhere, a dirty yet empty upturned bowl on the floor and—

Picking up the cheese and pepperoni, I hold it out for Alana to see.

“Making pizzas?”

“Christ. I know he said he can’t cook but this is—”

“A fucking war zone?” I offer, watching as a glop of very badly made dough drips onto the floor.

“He tried.”

“He’s certainly trying,” I mutter.

“Mav,” she warns. “Don’t be mean. It wasn’t so long ago that you ordered takeout every night.”

“I guess we haven’t all had a hot teacher,” I mutter, reaching down to pick up the bowl.

“Exactly. I’ll whip him into shape in no time.”

That fear from before returns, knotting up my stomach.

She wants to stay here.

“You’re assuming Reid hasn’t tried. I hate to admit it, but he can cook. Surely he’s attempted to teach him.”

“Control freak Reid Harris?” she asks with a laugh, although when I glance back, her expression is wrought with concern.

“Fair point,” I mutter, reaching for the paper towel, ready to scoop up the dough explosion.

“I should go and make sure he’s okay,” Alana says, glancing at the doorway.

“He’s a big boy, Doll. Give him some space.”

“But— Yeah, you’re right. Fancy making pizzas for dinner?” she says, ripping off her own bit of towel to help me.

“With you, I’ll make anything.”

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