“What is it, then? You’re still sore at me for going after him? For overstepping my bounds?”
“Brady, it’s—it doesn’t matter.” She sighs, the sound crackling through the speaker.
“Like hell.”
“I mean it. That’s why I wanted space. You still don’t get that you don’t have tofixanything.”
“Are you still mad at me? Be honest.”
A hesitation. Just enough to feel it in my bones. “No.”
“So, talk to me. You’re not pissed, but you don’t want to talk to me or see me. Is it him? Is that fuck causing more trouble?”
“No,” she says sharply. “Not everything in my life revolves around men, past or present. Tricky concept, I know.”
I fight back a smile, grateful she’s showing a little sass, like her nickname.
“Not him. Then why do I smell it on your voice?” I say. “What’s he done now? Lena, be straight with me.”
“Dude, this isn’t about him, and even if it was, it’s not your business. It’s my job. How many times do we need to talk about this? The clinic deal has nothing to do with you or—” She stumbles, unable to say his name, and I know.
Total certainty.
Yeah, she might be lying to protect herself or even me, but that doesn’t change the facts.
He’s still coming for her, and that’s an open invitation for me to take out the trash.
I don’t like it one bit. The Lena who left my apartment ready to tear my head off would never hold back.
This Lena—she’s too quiet. Too unsure. Too afraid.
If this was only about me, she’d have said it to my face. She’d give me hell for breaking her trust and screwing up the sexy chaos we had.
Her silence now tells me there’s more to worry about than my own dumb mistakes. And whatever it is, I need to know.
“If it’s not Harry, then what?” I demand.
“I’m just having second thoughts about ... about this whole thing, I guess. The Pawsome Hearts deal.”
What?
My chest squeezes.
That’s not what she would’ve said a week ago, and this change of heart has Harry Jay’s fingerprints all over it.
What the fuck did he do to her?
“I’m coming over.” I clench my fists and release them, trying to push that smarmy asshole’s face out of my head. “It’ll be easier to talk in person, assuming you’re—”
“There’s nothing to talk about! God. If you insist, fine.”
“I’ll swing by later. I want to see you.”
“Brady, I—”
“Talk soon.” I hesitate, then end the call before saying anything else, like how I’m practically having goddamned withdrawals without her by my side.
I’m no expert on feelings, but I know I need to tread lightly.
