Stepping back and resettling, I swallowed and forced my stare elsewhere. My throat burned and my arms wrapped themselves around my ribs. “I didn’t think you and Rebecca were athing… but I don’t know Rebecca.”
Laken waited for more explanation.
“I don’t know her, I don’t know where you’ve been, who you worked with, I don’t know anything about your new life.” Once opened, my mouth rambled and rambled. “I don’t know all the ways you’ve changed and ways you haven’t. I”—I tossed my arms up—“I don’t know if you still hate scrambled eggs!”
His brows pinched.
“Frankly, Laken, I don’t know what was real. I don’t know if any of it ever was for you.” My throat strained, the muscles in my jaw tightened, and my lips quivered.
“Because you never let me explain.” He sighed, resigning.
“Because I didn’t want to hear it!” I confessed, heart on my sleeve. “I didn’t want to hear you left and moved on and fell in love. I didn’t want to hear you never reached out to keep me safe because that’s absolute bullshit.” Taking in a deep breath, I readied for the last of it. “And I damn sure didn’t want to hear that it wasn’t about me, because if it wasn’t… then nothing was.”
Laken stepped back; his face paled. “Moved on? That’swhat you think I did during those years? You think I could’ve moved on from you?”
It became my turn to be silent.
“Come on, Reece. You know me.” His emphasis onyou know mefelt like a blanket being ripped off my body on the coldest winter night. As if he’d been begging me to see him, to realize he stood there, he waited. “I still like my eggs runny and I’d rather starve than have them scrambled.”
My chest rattled. “Good to know.”
“You know I can never say no when people ask me for help. You know I put salt in my coffee. You know I’d sit here and explain every bit of the last three years to you if you asked. And you know I still want you as bad as I did three years ago.”
I felt dizzy. Unsettled.
“You know me, Reece. There are just some things to catch up on.” Laken erased what little space remained between us. “And you know damn well it was real for me. Every second. Every moment with you, and every moment gone.”
His eyes drowned in a sincerity I wasn’t used to. His fingers softly grazed mine until they intertwined. “And I know you.”
I don’t even know me anymore.
“I know you’d rather stay home than go out. I know you love gushing about your favorite things. I know you refuse to ask for help and that you have those glass bottles you used to make potions in.” His hand drifted to my cheek, brushing my hair back. “I know you love people more than you like to admit. I know you’d rather play darts all night before admitting you lost.” Like stars regaining their fires after burningout in the darkness, Laken’s gaze struck mine. Moving my hair around to my shoulder, his fingers ghosted over the place between my shoulder and throat.
“I know it kills you when I touch you. I know you have a kink for having your hair pulled”—slightly, but sure—“and I know you love being the one thing in this world that unravels me.” Laken stopped talking, convincing me more than enough that I, perhaps, knew him. He waited for a cautious moment before a hand cupped my cheek. His thumb traced my skin, and he moved in slowly—plenty of time for either of us to stop. But we both knew we weren’t in the place to do so. The silence between us was sharp enough to slit our tongues.
His mouth collided into mine with a warm welcome home, fitting together perfectly. His hands moved around the back of my waist, holding firm on to my hips. His chest caved against mine.
“It’s been too long.” As if damned and my body offered him salvation—he came back to me.
Suddenly, Laken’s laugh quickly turned into guttural screams. Setting me down, he stumbled back, and pain riddled his face. Vulgar words were shouted, and I’d have asked what happened, but as he whipped around to investigate, I saw it.
The porcupine quills in his ass.
The very lethal deadly prickler’s quills.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Fuck, Phoebe,” his voice pulled me back into the moment. As I drew my eyes away from his rear, Phoebe darted up toward her enclosure. “I didn’t see her,” he explained. “I must’ve hit her by accident or—”
We didn’t have time for this. “Laken.” The poison acted fast, and we needed to act faster, but my words were disintegrating. Standing there, silent and panicked, I pointed to his ass with a trembling finger.
Within seconds, we rushed inside. I grabbed the first aid kit and antidote from the lockbox, the small vial with a metal lid chilling against my skin as I hauled ass to the bathroom where Laken waited. I wasn’t aware of my surroundings or where I ran, I simply ran to him. As if I’d been the wounded one, my vision blurred, my stomach knotted. Feeling faintand nauseous, I grabbed the frame of the door and lowered myself onto the ground.
Eye to eye with three porcupine quills in an ass cheek.
“You got the antidote and the needle?” Laken leaned over the sink, keeping his weight on his other leg.
“Yes,” I cried, or questioned, or sort of whimpered. “Oh my Gods.” My heart recoiled into my chest.
