I press my knees together. “Absolutely. One hundred percent confidence here.”
His fingers trace my skin before he slowly withdraws, and I actually have to bite back a whine as they all shift back, giving me the space I asked for.
Fuckinghormones.
“In that case,” Jax murmurs. “I have a surprise for you.”
“You do?” Shaking off the weird little omega moment and seizing the change in topic gratefully, I spin around in my chair.
My gratitude lasts a split second before it drains away, and I give Jax a flat stare. “No.”
“Oh, come on.” He shakes the neck of the guitar he’s holding carefully, a black painted, wooden, slightly musty looking instrument.
“Where did you even get that?”
He beams. “Emmett has a lot of shit in his storage shed. Come on, shortcake. Sing a little song with me.”
I stare at it. God, I want to. My fingers itch to reach for it, to run my fingers along the familiar feel of strings, to play for them like I always wanted to.
But that was before. When I had my dad’s guitar.
And it’s the reminder of everything I’ve lost that throws a bucket of cold water over my warm and fuzzy feelings.
Because ofthem.
“I’m going up.” I stand so abruptly that Tristan rocks back, catching his balance as I tug my hands from his without looking at him.
“Sienna.” Jax’s expression slides away, and he swallows. “I – I didn’t mean—,”
I hold up my hand. “I know.”
And I think that’s the worst thing. I believe him. I believe all of them, even Tristan, when they say they’re sorry.
But it still doesn’t change anything that happened.
And I don’t know how to get past it, or if we even can.
I force a smile. “I’m just tired.”
“No, you’re not,” Tristan says quietly, his eyes meeting mine. “But that’s on us. Who do you want with you tonight, Sienna?”
I shake my head, my feet already turning towards the stairs. It’s technically Jax’s turn, but I hate how fucking sterile that sounds. Like they have to have their regular slot with me to keep my heart pumping. “I’m good for tonight.”
Tristan follows me, his hand landing on mine as I place it on the stair rail.
“Please,” he says softly. “It doesn’t have to be me, Sienna. But have one of us with you. You’re still recovering.”
I draw in a breath. “Can we just stop for a minute? This is… it’s a lot, Tristan. We’ve gone from one extreme to the other, and I can’t just – I needtime. You need to give me space when I need it.”
His hand drops slowly. “Sienna—"
And then, of course, it all goes to shit.
An unfamiliar voice cuts into our space. “Hello?”
The low, male call makes me flinch back against the wall. Matching growls ripple out around me, and my view is suddenly taken up by a broad, muscular back as Tristan physically twists, keeping me behind him.
My hands start to shake as I unashamedly hide behind him.
