Page 159 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

"That's not what this is."

"No?"

"No." Her jaw tightened. "You don't understand what you're taking away."

"I didn't take anything."

"You did." Her voice cracked for the first time. "You took my best friend."

I opened my mouth, but footsteps echoed around the corner. Jackson rounded it a second later, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. Through the bond I felt a low pulse of anger rolling off him. He had heard every word.

Lia’s expression smoothed instantly into something sweet and composed, but it was too late.

Jackson’s jaw tightened. “You’ve been doing this to her the whole time,” he said, voice low and disappointed. “And I didn’t see it.”

Lia’s eyes widened. “Jackson, wait. This isn’t what it looks like. I was just—”

“No.” He cut her off, stepping between us. “I thought you were just adjusting. But this?” He shook his head. “I’m done making excuses for you.”

Lia’s face crumpled. “Please, Jackson. You know me. I’ve been here for you for years. She’s twisting things. She doesn’t belong here. She’s going to ruin everything between us.”

“She’s my mate,” he said.

Lia’s voice cracked. “You don’t understand. I’ve known you my whole life. We—”

“Stop.” His tone was final. “Harper is not going anywhere. And if you can’t accept that, then you and I have nothing left to say.”

Lia opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked genuinely devastated.

I stayed quiet through all of it. There was nothing left to say.

Jackson pulled me closer, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“Come on. Let’s go home.”

We walked away together, his fingers threaded through mine, leaving Lia standing alone in the hallway.

Through the bond I felt it — a dull, heavy ache. He was hurting. Not angry. Just… sad.

I squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Jackson stopped walking and turned me to face him. His free hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing gently across my skin.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I’m not. You’re my mate. That choice was never hard.” He leaned down and pressed his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I should have protected you from that.”

I closed my eyes and let myself lean into him.

The guys spent the rest of Wednesday moving Jackson’s things in. By Thursday afternoon the place was ready enough for round two — my things and, most importantly, Artemis.

Getting him into the carrier was its own battle. Artemis hated it with a fiery passion. He yowled the entire drive like we were trafficking him across state lines.

The second Jackson opened the carrier in the new living room, he shot out like a gray missile and vanished under the couch.

Rick and Jason trudged up the stairs with my remaining boxes, loudly complaining about how underappreciated they were. While they hauled everything inside, Artemis finally emerged and began his inspection. He moved from room to room, knocked one object off every flat surface he passed, then strutted straight to the bed and planted himself in the exact middle. The expensive cat beds we had bought him were ignored with pure contempt.

By the time the last box was set down, the place finally looked lived-in. Litter box in the corner. Food bowls. Two scratch posts, one tall enough to satisfy even my drama-queen cat. Toys scattered everywhere.

Rick wiped sweat from his brow, looked around, and grinned. “Look at that. He’s a cat-dad now.”