“–I said I need to speak to her!”
I froze, the order striking harder than it should have. And his eyes. God, his eyes. The warmth in those golden eyes from earlier had nearly vanished, almost replaced by something else entirely. A distant storm churned in them, unruly, like a tempest on the verge of breaking loose.
He broke past his soldiers and reached for me. His fingers curled around my shoulders–not the gentle touch from earlier atthe bookstore, but firm and desperate, his talons digging into my skin.
“I’ll call you, okay?” His voice cracked, fear woven into every word. “As soon as I can, I will.”
Anxiety slid down my spine, ice-cold and unrelenting. I didn’t understand what was happening, and the sheer panic in his voice terrified me. Callan Raskov was afraid, not for himself, but for me.
Why? What was he afraid of? What or who was going to hurt me?
My heart kept pounding, my body trembling as I watched him slide into the car, the door slammed shut.
As the car drove off, not for once did my gaze break away from them.
I watched until the images blurred. And even long after they were out of my sight, his sound of agony still echoed in my ears.
What exactly was happening?
Why was he so…afraid?
9
BETH
Life was sand. And I had no fist, but opened palms.
I walked up the driveway of Rowan McRae’s apartment, the blue front door looming ahead, mocking me.
There was a time when the sight of that door filled me with warmth. When stepping onto his porch meant slipping into his arms, his laughter rumbling against my ear.
Now the door was a reminder of the pain I had caused, a relationship I had ruined with my own hands.
Taking a steadying breath, I climbed gently up the steps, the floorboard whining beneath the weight of my feet as I walked across the porch.
I exhaled through my nose, raised my knuckles, and placed a tentative knock on the door.
I waited…patiently. He needed to open the door. He really had to.
I knew I wasn’t supposed to be here. I made up my mind long ago that this was over, that I would never show my shameless self here again. And I really meant that.
But three days ago, I was trying to declutter my emails and saw that Rowan’s account was still logged in on my phone from that time he had to log in to check his email.
I saw there was a new email he hadn’t replied to. It was from a gaming company he had applied to months ago. And they finally sent him a reply.
I was happy for him. He was a mathematician and working as a game developer had been one of his dreams. This was a job a thousand times better than a high-school math teacher. But Rowan hadn’t replied even though the email said his reply was needed within a week.
See, I didn’t come because I was a shameless ex that came crawling back. I came because I needed to be sure he was okay. He needed to reply to that email. Maybe I would feel less guilty about making him lose his job if he landed this one.
Raising my hand, I knocked again, gently. And finally, I heard the shuffling of footsteps behind the door, and it sent a sharp jolt to my chest. My breath hitched, and my hand trembled.
He was there.
He was coming. But I wasn’t sure if I had the courage to meet him, to face him.
The lock turned and shame waited to envelope me like a cold, wet shroud.
But when the door opened, it wasn’t Rowan.
