The one thing we had talked about in our house was the military and anything related to it.
“Mallory?” Chloe said, sounding like she’d said my name multiple times.
I blinked quickly, struggling to focus on her and the coffee shop we were in when it felt like my entire world had been upended for the second time in three months. Only this time, it was by way of an unnecessary scare and the staggering form of an impossible-to-swallow pill at the realization that my family might’ve been horribly messed up.
“You okay?” Chloe asked gently.
“Of course,” I began, then cleared my throat as I did what I do best—forced it back. “Well, if that’s true, that’s great for them.”
Chloe’s head tilted, her brow furrowing. “You sure you’re okay?”
I just realized any chance I had at being a normal woman was yelled out of me by my drill instructor father, mocked and fought out of me by my four older brothers, and silenced by my mother.
No, I’m not okay.
Because, maybe if they hadn’t, Gray would look at me the way he looked at every other woman. But if I hadn’t been raised in such an—apparently—dysfunctional house, I would’ve never met him at all.
“I have to go,” I said, already turning and blindly reaching for the door we were still standing beside.
But as soon as I swung it open and set foot outside, I was pulled against a hard chest as arms wrapped tightly around me.
Before I could react to the assault, that familiar, woodsy scent hit me at the same second I realized the hold was meant to pour comfort and strength into me.
As if he could’ve somehow known I needed that.
As if I wasn’t so close to breaking because ofhim.
And for a second, my eyelids squeezed tightly shut to block the burning there as I sank into his embrace when he whispered, “I’ve got you, Princess.”
“What’s going on?” I asked as I held Mallory tight to me, subtly shaking my head when Chloe followed her out and opened her mouth to speak.
I’d never seen Mallory look the way she had when I’d been walking up to the coffee shop then, like she’d been on the verge of a panic attack. Mallory didn’t panic. Ever.
She’d also only let me hold her like this after those rare, vulnerable moments she’d shared with me through the years, when no one else was around. Yet there she was...in my arms. In public.
“What are you doing here?” Mallory asked, her voice muffled and strained.
“Getting coffee,” I murmured against her head, forcing a tease into my voice that I in no way felt.
“Howare you here?” she countered as she put the slightest pressure against my chest, the way she always did. But the hesitancy of the touch and the gentleness ofmyMallory during those times always made me want to cling tighter.
Not that I ever had.
I was in love with her . . . not delusional.
I reluctantly released my hold on her and watched as she lifted her beautiful face to meet mine.
I wavered between what exactly to tell her—because saying,“I saw your Jeep, so I turned around and followed you,”didn’t seem like a good way to start—when she added, “Why are you even in Huntley?”
“Wren text?—”
A sound of aggravation and loathing tore from her throat as she shoved me back and started stalking away.
“Mal—”
“I know she texted you,” she seethed, whirling on me when I grabbed her hand. “I knowwhy. So, go.” She tossed her free hand in the general direction of Pearson Farms, then tried pulling away from me.
“Let me explain.”
