She wished today had been the first time he’d hurt her. God, she wished that so badly. It wasn’t. And she hated herself for that.
She stepped back into the living room and had just put the mug into her bag when the click of the front door unlocking sounded.
Her heart crashed into her ribs, gaze flying to the street… Dylan’s gray Toyota Tacoma. It sat in the driveway.
He was home.
He stepped into the living room. His gaze moved from her to the bag on the sofa, then back to her. There was no anger on his face. No shock or frustration. In fact, his face was eerily clear of emotion.
And for some reason, that was even more terrifying than the anger.
“I thought something was off with you. It’s why I came back.” He stepped closer, his voice sharp, cutting into her skin like a razor. “You’re leaving.”
It wasn’t a question. But she answered as if it was. “We’re over, Dylan. I can’t be with you anymore.”
Still, there was nothing on his face. And it made the fear in Aspen’s belly triple.
He inched forward. “I don’t want us to be over.”
Some of the fear shifted into something else. Something darker. Something easier to feel.
Anger.
“It doesn’t matter what you want. I’m done walking on eggshells around you. I’m done making excuses for you. I’m leaving. And if you don’t like it, you should have thought about that before you—”
He was across the room in a second. His fingers wrapped around her upper arms in a grip so tight that she cried out in pain.
“You’re not leaving me.”
She shoved at his chest. “Let go of me. Now!”
“I’m not losing you.”
“You don’t have a choice. I don’t love you—”
His arm swung and he backhanded her. She screamed as she fell back, hitting the coffee table so hard that the glass shattered beneath her.
Jesse’s eyes shot open.Something had woken him. What?
He sat up silently…listening. Waiting for whatever had woken him to sound again.
A soft cry sliced through the air.
Aspen.
He shot out of bed and reached behind his bedside table to pull the Glock from his hidden safety holster. With the weapon in hand, he sprinted down the hall. He threw open her bedroom door—only to freeze.
Aspen’s salt lamp cast a dim glow over the room…the seeminglyemptyroom. Empty of anyone other than her. Shelay in bed, chest rising and falling in slow succession. She was asleep.
So what the hell had he heard? Was he losing his mind?
His arm dropped, gaze once again scanning the room, searching for anything he’d missed the first time. Nothing.
He looked at her again. At the way her hair spread over the pillow. The hand beneath her cheek as she lay on her side.
Fuck, she was beautiful. And he was a creep for watching her while she slept.
He turned and had pulled the door half closed behind him when a soft whimper sounded. It was so quiet, he almost didn’t hear it.
