“They deserve to be happy.”
“Sure they do. Everyone does. Get married. Have babies. Build white picket fences.” She took another swig. “Until reality crashes in and wrecks it all.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Bear stepped closer, lowering his voice so it wouldn’t carry into the living room. “You think because your life got wrecked, everyone else’s will too? That’s bullshit.”
“Did I hit a nerve, Bear?” She tilted her head, eyes glinting with dangerous curiosity. “What, were you playing house once? Before prison? Or is it that you’re jealous you don’t have someone to build a fence with?”
“You don’t know a damn thing about me.” The words came out as a growl. King pressed against his leg, sensing the shift in his mood.
“I know you’ve been staring at me since I walked in.” She set her plate down, stepping closer. “I know you’re watching my flask like it might bite you. And I know you hate that I can drink when you can’t.”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t hate anything about you.”
“Liar.” She was close enough now that he could smell the whiskey on her breath, see the freckles scattered across her nose, the tiny scar at the corner of her left eyebrow. “You hate that Imake you uncomfortable. That I don’t fit into this perfect little Valor Ridge family.”
“You think any of us fit? You think we’re perfect? Christ, Greta, we’re ex-cons and broken soldiers. We’ve all got demons.”
“Don’t compare your demons to mine.” Her voice dropped lower, something raw bleeding through her anger. “Mine is still out there. Somewhere. Maybe still alive.”
“And you think getting shitfaced every night helps you find her?” The words were out before he could stop them.
Her palm cracked against his cheek, the slap echoing in the suddenly silent kitchen. “Fuck you.”
He caught her wrist as she pulled back, not hard, just firm enough to stop her retreating. “I deserve that.”
“Damn right you do.” She tried to tug free, but he held on.
“I’m sorry.” He meant it. “That was over the line.”
She stared at him, eyes flashing with anger, confusion, and something else—something that made his pulse kick against his throat. They were standing too close, her wrist still caught in his grip, their breathing synchronized in short, sharp pulls.
“Let me go.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Are you okay to drive?”
“I had two sips, Bear. I’m not drunk.”
“That’s not what I asked.” He released her wrist but didn’t step back. “Are you okay?”
For a moment, the mask slipped, and he saw it—the bone-deep exhaustion, the fear, the desperate hope she couldn’t let go of.
“No.” The word was so soft he almost missed it. “But I don’t need you to fix me.”
“Never thought I could.”
“Good.” She swallowed hard, gaze dropping briefly to his mouth. “Because I’m unfixable.”
He was suddenly aware of how small the kitchen was, how easily he could back her against the counter, how her pulse raced beneath the skin where he’d held her wrist.
“You planning to rip each other’s clothes or faces off?” River asked, heavy with amusement. “Because either way, you should probably get a room. There are children present.”
Greta jerked backward like she’d been burned, nearly tripping over King in her haste to put space between them. “Jesus, River. Wear a bell or something. You’re almost as bad as Ghost.”
“And miss all the sexual tension? Not a chance.” River leaned against the doorframe, grinning like the cat that got the canary. “Seriously, though, you two are putting off enough heat to melt the ice sculpture at Walker and Jo’s wedding.”
