Page 26 of The Route to You

Just like that, he remembered what it was like to be tangled in sheets with her, her naked flesh against his own.

Kyle felt heat crawl up his neck. “Well. Lucky for you, I’m a changed man. I have a rental tux and everything.”

She let out a small, low laugh more breath than sound. “Maybe you are different. It’s been eight years, and we were just kids.” Her gaze drifted, then landed back on him. “But I bet some things are the same.”

“Like?”

Sloan laid her head back down on the pillow, but kept her eyes trained on his. “I bet you probably still eat giant lumps of peanut butter on your Cheerios.”

Kyle stared at her. His lips twitched, despite himself. “How do you even remember that?”

She shrugged slightly, the sleeping bag rustling. “I remember a lot of stupid things.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well. I’m sure you still make those amazing oatmeal raisin cookies.”

Her expression flickered—something like surprise, then a shadow. “I . . . can’t remember the last time I baked anything. We have a private chef.” Her throat bobbed. “Or had.” She tugged the sleeping bag closer. “I don’t have anything now.”

Somehow, he doubted that. He might not have kept up with Sloan, but her father’s company was a different story. Actaeon Tech was a major tech corporation, one that he’d known more about while he’d been working in the IT field.

But maybe Sloan didn’t think of her father’s wealth as her own, the way he’d imagined she would.

She looked smaller, wrapped in his sleeping bag, in his cabin, in a life that had apparently shattered overnight.

“I used to drive past your old house,” he said quietly, “and wonder where your dad had moved after he sold it. People said it was a mansion. He might be able to spare a room for you.”

Sloan blinked slowly. “My dad and I don’t get along that well.”

Huh. That was a change. Sloan had always been a daddy’s girl. Her older sister, Penelope, had often complained about the blatant favoritism.

Kyle didn’t know what to say to that, though, so what came out was the thing he was actually worried about. “Did he hit you or something?”

“My father?”

“No, your fiancé. Or ex-fiancé. Whatever he is now.”

A few moments of silence ticked by. Kyle’s stomach dropped. God damn it.

“He was cheating on me,” Sloan said softly. She didn’t move, but her words were soft without expression. Like she was trying to package them in a way that made them easy enough to hold.

“Someone gave me an envelope last night. Printed proof. Sexts . . . and more.” Her gaze held his. “Right after I bumped into you in the elevator, actually.”

Ohhhh.

Kyle blew out a breath. “Fuck.”

Now he really couldn’t be an ass to her—not that he’d been considering it—but he was glad now that he’d offered her the bed.

Sloan’s eyes flickered over his face, like she’d expected some other reaction.

“God, Sloan. I’m sorry,” he managed. He didn’t know how to elaborate on that. All those cliché lines like better you found out now probably wouldn’t help soothe her aching heart, and he didn’t have to have been cheated on to know that things like that never helped. Just like when people said things like, “She’s in a better place,” to him about Granny.

“I haven’t decided what I think or feel about any of it,” she said in a tight voice. “I did go to a clinic to get tested last night and that was . . . surreal. Violating. I think I’m angrier about that than anything else right now.”

He clenched his jaw. “Did he say anything?”

“I didn’t confront him.” She stared at the ceiling. “I just left. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

The fire popped and he let it be his excuse to break eye contact with her, her words slipping under his ribs and lodging there. What?