She’s wearing Maddox’s shirt. It’s too big for her, the sleeves falling past her hands, but it’s his. I’d recognize it anywhere. And behind her, Maddox appears, his chest bare, his hair a mess, a pair of boxers slung low on his hips.
“What the fuck is going on?” The words are ripped from me, full of disbelief and betrayal.
Millie freezes, her eyes wide with shock. Maddox stops behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder. The protective, possessive gesture sends a fresh wave of rage through me.
And then there’s a knock on the door.
We all turn, a silent, frozen tableau of guilt and confusion. I open the door, my movements stiff, robotic.
It’s Knox. “You forgot your wallet,” he says, holding it out to me.
He stops, his eyes taking in the scene. Me, standing there, my face a mask of fury. Millie, in Maddox’s shirt. Maddox, half-naked behind her. The air is heavy with the scent of what they’ve done.
He knows. I can see it in his eyes. He can smell it too.
“Shit,” Millie says.
“I should go,” Knox says, his words cutting through the suffocating air. His hand is still outstretched, holding my wallet.
“No, I should go,” I say.
I can’t be here. I can’t breathe. Every muscle in my body is screaming at me to run, to get out, to put as much distance between me and this... this scene as possible.
“No one goes,” Maddox says, his tone surprisingly calm. He cups Millie’s face, his touch so tender it makes my stomach turn. “We need to talk about this.”
“Talk about it?” I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “There’s nothing to talk about.” I shake my head, my gaze fixed on Millie, on the way she’s leaning into his touch, on the way his shirt hangs on her small frame. “I’ll go to my mom’s. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“Liam, wait,” she pleads.
She stops, her eyes wide with a dawning realization. She looks down at herself, at Maddox’s shirt, and then she’s moving, grabbing the blanket off the armchair and wrapping it around herself, a flimsy barrier against the weight of my stare.
Maddox ignores me, his focus entirely on her. He rushes up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and comes back a few minutes later, pulling on a pair of jeans.
Nimbus, oblivious to the tension, winds his way through the mess of legs and emotions, rubbing himself against my calves, a low, rumbling purr vibrating through my body.
At least someone around here is faithful, I think, reaching down to stroke his soft fur.
Maddox takes a seat next to her on the couch, his arm wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her close. She’s a bundle of nervous energy, sitting, then standing, then sitting again, unable to settle.
Knox clears his throat, a sharp, pointed sound that suddenly reminds me that the sheriff is still here. That this entire, fucked-up situation has an audience.
I turn to him, my movements stiff, formal. “Thank you,” I say tightly. “For everything. And for... sharing with me.”
Knox nods, but his expression is stiff, his jaw clenched. He looks as uncomfortable as I feel.
Millie’s head snaps up, eyes wide with a new kind of horror. “You told him?” she asks, her voice trembling.
I pause, confused. “Told me what?”
She looks from me to Knox, her face pale. “About us.”
“What? What are you talking about?” And then it hits me.
My heart hammers in my chest, a frantic, painful beat. Knox and Millie? No. It can’t be.
And then Knox is cursing with frustration. “I didn’t tell him about you,” he says, his eyes fixed on me. “I told him about my abusive father.”
“Shit,” Maddox says.
