“You think?”
“They’re at the condo.”
“Then you need to go get them.”
My stomach tightened. It wasn’t fear, but a visceral rejection of place. The condo, the kitchen, the study, Callum’s office—my body recoiled from the thought of those rooms, spaces I had designed but that no longer felt like they belonged to me.
“I don’t want to go back there.”
“I know.”
“If he’s there?—”
“Then you leave. Or you take me. Or you take Finn. Or you take an attorney. You don’t have to do it alone.”
At Finn’s name, something shifted in the room.
Sloane noticed. Of course she did. Her gaze sharpened, missing nothing. She took a slow sip of coffee and watched me over the rim.
“So,” she said.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You said ‘so’ in your older-sister voice.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got.”
“It’s one of several.”
“Holland.”
I stared into my coffee. The surface had gone still, a dark mirror in a white mug.
“Finn is not the reason I left Callum,” I said.
“I didn’t think he was.”
“He’s not my escape plan.”
“No one said he was.”
“I’m serious, Sloane.”
“So am I.” Her voice gentled, which somehow made it worse. “You don’t have to defend yourself to me. I know you. You don’t burn down your life because a man with good cheekbones offers you coffee and basic respect.”
I let out a breath. “His cheekbones are not the point.”
“So they are good.”
“Sloane.”
“I’m just gathering facts.”
I pressed my fingers to my eyes, a small smile loosening the tightness in my chest.
Sloane reached over and squeezed my knee. “I’m not judging you. I’m watching you come back to yourself, and if Finn is oneof the people reminding you what being seen feels like, I’m not going to make that ugly for you.”
