I can’t let myself be stuck in a tree.
I fight off the fear building in my gut and climbing my throat, telling myself ...Don’t run. Don’t act suspicious. Don’t draw attention. Don’t. Run.
So, of course, as soon as I’m through the door, I sprint for my car. It’s instinct. I can’t help it. As I cross the parking lot, I’m scrambling in my bag for my keys. Once I find them, I press the unlock button over and over like that’ll make it extra-unlocked for me to jump right in.
I swing the car door open and climb in, but because it’s me, of course I bang my head on the doorframe. Pained tears instantly spring to my eyes. “Owwww!” I hiss, rubbing the tender spot on the side of my head with one hand and double-locking the doors with the other.
But I made it out alive, and thankfully un-chased by big, scary guys who are apparently looking for me. And trying to find out my home address.
Oh my God! I have to get home.
But some sanity reigns, plus I’m kinda seeing double from the head bang, and instead of peeling out of the lot on two wheels and laying down a line of rubber, I slouch down low in my seat. Heart still pounding and my breath fogging up the windows, I wait for the guys to come out. I need to see their faces. Not because I haven’t memorized them at this point but because I need to see if they look happy or disappointed. That’ll tell me if they know where I live.
I pray the post office’s lack of give-a-shit served me well this time and the clerk refused to be bothered into looking up my address, which I was assured was entirely private since that’s the whole point of a PO box. But I don’t know if I trust their process that much.
I’m staring fixated at the door, waiting, and when it finally swings open, the two guys come out, their faces thunderous as they yell at each other. I can’t hear them, but I can read the situation well enough to know one thing for sure ... they didn’t get my address. Yet.
It’s a huge relief. But if they went this far, what else will they do in search of this ring? I swear it really must be cursed. And unfortunately, I think the curse has extended to include me.
Chapter 20
Penny
Busting through my apartment door, I’m already talking to Talia. “Oh my God, you are not gonna believe what happened at the post office!”
Expecting her to be ready to hear my crazy story, I’m completely unprepared for hers.
“He says he’s here to apologize.” Talia holds her hands up, though I’m not sure if it’s in surrender or to stop me from attacking the man sitting on our couch, who also looks concerned I might launch myself at him, and not in a good way.
Griffin.
I cannot believe the audacity this guy possesses. Showing up after what he did? Fuck that, and fuck him. Not literally, obviously, but in the fuck-off way. In my mind, I flip middle finger after middle finger at him.Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!
I don’t speak to him, but to Talia instead. “Well, you can tell him to apologize to someone who wants to hear it, because it’s not me.”
I drop my bag on my desk chair, glaring death at the son of a bitch, who’s sitting with his elbows on his spread knees, eyes locked on me. At the post office, I felt like prey and those scary guys were predators. But I was wrong. How Griffin is looking at me now? That’s predatory. His brown eyes are dark, intensely focused, and I suspect that if I wentfor the door, he’d beat me there because he’s watching my every move that closely.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” Talia says uncertainly. And then, traitorous bitch that she is, she picks up her purse, shoots me a look ofsorry—or maybe it’sdon’t be too loud or Mrs. Rosenthal will call the super—and vanishes out the door, abandoning me to this rapidly sinking ship.
“She did not just do that,” I say to no one in particular, because I am not talking to Griffin. Like ever again. Silent treatment? Try invisible treatment. No talking, no looking, no acknowledgment. That’s what he gets.
“I brought you ice cream. It’s in the freezer.”
I whirl on him, incredulous. “You think ice cream is gonna fix this? You must be stupid if you think I’m that easy.”
So much for the invisible treatment.
He flinches instantly at my sharp tone. But the shadow that passes over his eyes when I call himstupidsends regret through me. I’m not mean and cruel that way. I’m not the bully. He is, and I refuse to stoop to his level. “I’m sorry. You’re not stupid. But ice cream isn’t going to undo what you’ve done.”
“I know. Brody just always says ...” He shakes his head, and pushing on his thighs, he rises from the couch. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have come.”
Curiosity piqued, I ask, “Brody says what?” Jordan Krivosky, a.k.a. Brody, is the youngest player on the Hawks, with a reputation for being in the throes of his oat-sowing days. He’s definitely not the type Griffin would typically take advice from, on anything.
Griffin slowly lifts his eyes to mine, his frown creating deep lines around his mouth. “That he takes girls their favorite treat, whatever it is, because it’s a surefire way in. I knew you wouldn’t want to talk to me, so I was willing to do anything. I figured you would’ve already had coffee this morning, and I couldn’t find any Thin Mints at the three grocery stores I went to, and some lady finally took pity on me and said they don’t even sell them there, but I knew you liked the icecream at Kitty’s Creamery, so that’s what I got in the hopes you’d at least talk to me.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
It’ssoa big deal.
