I wasn’t annoyed so much as surprised. And curious.
“I'd have poured it down the drain if I could," she said. "All of it. But to answer your question, no, I’m notamother, Mr. Harrington. And I’m certainly not yours." She pressed her hands on the counter. "But I bet she’d be ashamed to see you like this.”
My stomach contracted. My chest did too; heart and lungs both. For a moment, I felt like I’d fallen, all my bones crushed, the contents of everything in my ribs splattered on the floor.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Winona asked. Her voice had gone a little softer, her fingers curling under her palms on the counter.
Could she feel the humiliation radiating off of me?
I sneered. Without the whiskey as my crutch, I leaned down so my forearms were on the island counter, head turned to her. We were very close. But she didn't flinch or back away.
“That obvious?” I asked. I wanted to show her I couldn’t care fucking less. Like she hadn’t shoved a knife in my chest with her astuteness.
Her little jaw pulsed, her pointed chin moving like she was holding back words.
She may have stood firm, but I'd pissed her off again. Good. I was supposed to be making us mad. I needed her to hate me.
“Why are you here, Winona?” I asked, forcing a smirk to my lips as I stood back up. I leaned in just a little, conspiratorially. “You have a thing for assholes?”
Her eyes flared. That tight grip of control she’d been wielding all night slipped. “Youcalledme, youmiscreant. Ifelt sorry for you, so I came. I?—”
“I meant here in Vermont," I cut in, admiring her word choice even as I played the part of one. "But good to know you feel something for me.”
I’d meant the words to be a jab. To stoke that anger. It had worked on her end. Her cheeks had turned crimson, her nostrils tight.
But it hadn't worked on mine. Ifelt sorry for you.It was pathetic, but the words were like a root sticking out of a cliff. Something I wanted to cling to.
“Did you miss the part where it was pity?” she nearly shouted at me.
She closed her eyes, clearly upset she'd lost her cool.
I inhaled, and God, there was that smell again. A meadow in the fucking springtime.
I hated doing this, I realized. I was a bastard for it. But I kept going. The stakes were too high. Plus, I wanted to know. “Who was he?” I asked, trying not to breathe. Not to feel. My eyes went to the letters on her wrist, which I still couldn’t read. “A bad boyfriend?”
Her expression paled, just for a moment. Bingo. It was always some asshole.
“You’re a prick.”
Bingo again.
My dad had called me that once. A prick. When I’d told him I didn’t want to join him in his business. He’d already been turned down by Blake and Conrad and must have known what my answer would be, too. Who the fuck calls their son that?
It took me a moment to understand that she was walking away. I think I was a little drunk.
“Wait,” I said.
She was already on the steps. “No.”
“Winona. Please.”
I was pathetic.
“There’s something wrong with me.” I clenched my fists at my sides. “But there’s also something wrong with my plumbing. Please look. Just tell me if you can fix it. I’ll pay you whatever you want. I’ll buy you a fucking car. A house.” I know she didn’t want any of that, but I was desperate. “Please. I just need you to fix it. I swear to God I’ll leave you alone. Starting right now. Just…” I glanced at the cupboard under the sink, wincing slightly. “Just don’t ask me how it happened.”
There. I’d made my plea. She’d stopped on the stairs, but that’s as much as I could stand to see. I grabbed the whiskey and the glass and turned on my heel, heading outside where I could only damage myself.
CHAPTER 10
