I sit on the edge of the bed, breathing hard now that I’m alone. Mr. Pickles hops up beside me like he’s claimed his chosen human.
“Congratulations,” I murmur, scratching under his chin. “You’re my emotional support menace.”
From the other side of the door, I hear Sebastian pacing.
Then Drew’s voice—lowered, incredulous, unmistakably smug—slips under the crack. “What the hell did you donow?”
I close my eyes.
And for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe.
47
SEBASTIAN
The sound of the guest room door slamming reverberates through the house like a gunshot.
I stand in the hallway for a full second afterward, staring at the door like it might open again if I look hard enough. It doesn’t. The lock clicks—soft, final, like a verdict. Behind me, the silence stretches.
“What the hell did you donow?” Drew’s voice comes from behind me.
I don’t turn around. “I handled a situation,” I say carefully.
Drew snorts. “Youalwayssay that right before someone stops speaking to you.”
I drag a hand over my face and finally pivot. Drew’s arms are crossed, eyes alight with the kind of interest normally reserved for live sports and public meltdowns.
“She slammed the guest room door,” he continues. “Not your bedroom. That’s not a neutral choice.”
“I noticed,” I mutter.
He hums. “That’s the ‘you screwed up’ door. The guest room is reserved for emotional exile.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I say.
Drew’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh. We’re starting with lies.”
I glare. “I kept some guy away from her.”
“Was she in danger?”
“She was uncomfortable.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
I exhale sharply. “No.”
Drew nods slowly. “So what you did was not protection. It was a dominance display.”
“Look. We were outside the vet’s clinic and?—”
“Outside the veterinary clinic?” Drew scoffs. “That makes it worse.”
I stiffen. “That’s not?—”
“What? The point?” My brother scratches the stubble on his chin. “Lemme guess. You went all caveman on a man?—”
“It was the same guy who tried to drag her out of a bar when I first met her.”
