Not for the first time since I pulled out of that parking lot, I squeeze my eyes shut, attempting to calm the explosion of flutters in my stomach.
Please let it be him.
When I open them, the optimism turns to cold hard stone and plummets.
It’s not the old camper van I’ve found myself looking for all over town. Instead, Jeremiah’s ostentatious white Range Rover is parked in my driveway and he stomps toward me.
His loafers slap off the gravel, and his fisted hands are shoved in the pockets of his khakis like the idea of touching anything in my garage would be beneath him.
He’s so pompous I can almost feel my ovaries hiding.
I step back as the hatch closes on my SUV. It also gives me a few more feet of distance from him. A real win-win.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say.
“What the hell is all this?” His lip curls. “Are you moving?”
I keep working, more or less ignoring him and focusing on rearranging the things Drake still needs to come grab with his truck. Every few seconds my eyes flit to Jeremiah, too aware of how alone we are.
“I’m not having this conversation with you.” It’s a struggle to keep my voice steady as nerves and rage swirl together.
He takes a step closer, red crawling up his neck. “You reported me.”
“Yes. I did.”
Another step. “Why are you trying to ruin my career? This is my fucking reputation?”
“I’m done letting you intimidate me.” I straighten, keeping my voice steady. “Please leave.”
His nostrils flare. “You think you can just blow up my life and come out smelling like roses?”
My fist balls at my side. “Any consequences are of your own making.”
“You worthless bitch.”
That’s it.
Weeks of swallowed comments.
Years of making myself smaller.
Every time I smiled because anger made someone else uncomfortable.
I’m done.
“I asked you to leave,” I grit out.
Before I realize what I’m doing, my knuckles crack against his nose. I’m not sure if the sickening crunch is my hand or his cartilage but it fucking hurts.
I shake my hand out as Jeremiah stumbles backwards, cursing up a storm—both of us taken by surprise at my reaction.
At first, I think the low rumble in my ears is adrenaline, but as Jeremiah grabs his nose, I realize we’re not alone.
My heart lurches in my chest as Emmett flies out of his van.
He’s back.
I barely even notice Jeremiah swiping the blood away, spitting just to the side of my feet, because I can’t take my eyes off Emmett as he stalks up the driveway—calm, with a stare so lethal it sends a chill up my spine. I have no doubt if I hadn’t just decked Jeremiah he would’ve.
