Page 122 of The Route to You

Fuck. I should have called him to tell him I had it.

She hadn’t considered the fact that Tara would be upset, waiting to get it back.

“Oh yeah, actually, Delilah found it. She gave it to me, and I brought it back here to give to you.”

A few beats of silence followed. Then Kyle sighed. “Well, thank God for that. I gotta go. See you in a few minutes.”

Sloan grimaced as the line went dead, staring at the screen.

Oh God. I didn’t know. I hate making him angry.

Maybe she should have realized what a big deal a missing backpack would be to Tara, but the thoughts hadn’t really occurred to her. Outside of Cheyenne, whose son was barely over a year, she hadn’t been around kids in forever. And she rarely felt like she could handle grown-ass adults, let alone tiny humans who were a mystery to her.

Not that she didn’t like kids. She just wasn’t used to them. She’d never even babysat.

She pulled a pair of shorts on, then left the room and went to the kitchen, where she’d left the backpack on the counter. The dogs had followed her, thankfully, giving her something else to focus her attention on as she waited for Kyle.

He sounded so mad.

It made sense that he’d been frustrated, of course, especially if he’d been driving around for an hour looking for the backpack and trying to reach her—but he’d been mad mad. Like, unreasonably so.

The sound of keys in the lock made her heart speed up. She picked up the backpack, then went toward the rail above the stairs as Kyle opened the door. “Hey.”

Kyle came in, his expression serious as he closed the door. “Hey,” he answered, his eyes flicking to the backpack. He climbed the stairs, and she held it out to him. “Thanks.”

“Are you going to drive it to Tara now?”

He shook his head slowly, petting Charlie’s head as she rubbed up against his leg. “No, she’s already fallen asleep at this point. Elle said to just bring it tomorrow.”

“I’m really sorry, Kyle. I didn’t see your phone calls⁠—”

“Forget it.” His jaw set, muscles working at his temples.

Sloan hugged her arms to her chest. “I don’t understand why you’re so mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you. I’m just . . . tired.” He patted Charlie on the head again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He started down the hallway, backpack in hand.

“You are mad at me, though.” She followed him, her pulse picking up speed. “And I’m trying to figure out what I did wrong.”

He paused at the door to his room, his shoulders sinking as he glanced back at her. “It’s . . .”—he shook his head—“I mean . . . you couldn’t have called me? Told me you had found the backpack?”

“It didn’t occur to me it was important.”

Kyle’s eyes flickered with something unreadable and then he nodded. “Yeah. I know. And phone calls are tough to make. Night.” He went into his room.

Ouch.

And then it was clear.

This wasn’t about the backpack.

She followed him. “You’re not being fair. If you’re mad about tonight, fine. Be mad about tonight. I’m honestly sorry. And if I’d seen your phone calls, I would have answered. I called you the moment I saw them. But if this is about what happened over the winter, then just say so.”

“Fine,” Kyle said, turning to look at her. He took off the baseball cap he’d been wearing and set it on his dresser, his eyes narrowing at her. “Maybe we should talk. You start.”

“Don’t put this on me.” Sloan glared at him. “You’re the one that’s in a bad mood over a phone call.”

“I’m not in a bad mood. I’m just . . . a bit baffled. Like it couldn’t have occurred you to call?”