Fuckingflinch.
Too fast. Too big.
Too many times I’ve been hurt.
He halts almost immediately, gaze flicking toward Brooks, something unreadable crossing his face.
Then he closes the door. “What the fuck is going on?”
This is my nightmare.
Myliteralnightmare.
“I need to go.”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
Brooks and I speak at the same time and Jace’s gaze flicks between us, as though trying to decide which of us to address.
He seems to settle on Brooks. “What are you talking about?” he asks.
“She’s lost weight, eats like she hasn’t had a full meal in far too long, hits hard enough to leave fucking bruises”—Jace’s eyes widen—“and carries air freshener like it could be a fucking weapon?—”
“It can,” I blurt.
I have no freaking idea why I interject.
I need them to be distracted by each other so I can get the hell out.
Now they’re both looking at me.
And I find myself repeating, “It can.”
Brooks just looks at Jace.
No, heglaresat Jace.
Who just looks at me. “How?”
“How what?”
“How can it be used as a weapon?”
I nibble at the inside of my mouth then mentally shrug, figure there’s no harm in telling him. “Spray it in someone’s eyes and it works fine.”
Jace looks at Brooks.
Ilook at Brooks…and see his jaw is clenched so tightly a muscle begins to flicker in his cheek.
The silence stretches, growing so taut it threatens to snap. Then he grits out, “So, Jace—my best fucking friend—want to tell me why in the hell she looks the way she looks and acts the way she acts and is thinking about how to use air freshener as a fuckingweapon?”
My surprise has morphed back into anger. “Why do you care? You’re the one that walked away.”
He glares down at me. “Then you reappear five years later, helping yourself to my safe and leaving me unconscious when I try to stop you.”
That anger shatters, consumed by guilt. “I’m sorry. I…” A dozen explanations cross my mind, and I can’t share any of them. “I’m just…sorry.”
His glare softens. “Why did you steal it?”
