Page 92 of Waiting for You

She gave a small nod, then shook her head, and let out a self-deprecating laugh. "I'm really something," she murmured.

"You were incredible in there," I told her.

She looked over at me, her eyes shining wet again as she pressed her lips together. "Thank you for being in my corner," she whispered. "And for—" She gestured vaguely at the draining afternoon.

"Always," I promised.

She slipped out of the car and headed inside. I sat alone in the dark cabin a long time before putting the car in drive and heading home.

The house was warmly lit when I pushed through the front door.

Sloane was curled up on the couch with her bare legs tucked underneath her, a mug on the coffee table, a canvas duffel near the door that hadn't been there when I left.

"When did you get here?" I asked, dropping my keys.

"Not too long ago," she answered. "I packed some of my things. I'll be staying here for a while."

"How long is a while?"

She looked up, insecure all at once. "Are you trying to chase me away?"

"No," I answered. "The opposite." I wanted to tell her: Bring every box, break the lease, move the tattoo equipment and the sketchpads and the six half-empty coffee cups she left everywhere into this house and never take them back.

But I'd just gotten her back, and I wasn't going to rush her. So I sat down close beside her and kept my mouth shut.

"How did the lunch go?" she asked.

I unloaded the whole saga. I told her about my mother's manipulative text demanding I bring Violet and how that changed my willingness to engage. I described the tense restaurant, Violet's voice breaking when she asked what she'd done wrong, and the moment my mother stopped herself before launching into a lecture about Eliza.

Sloane listened with her whole body angled toward me, her dark eyes fixed on my face.

"I'm so glad Violet went," she murmured.

"Me too." I leaned back against the cushions. "How was your meeting?"

"He offered me the company," she said. "Claimed there were no conditions attached. Just a clean inheritance."

"Did you take it?"

"No." She pulled her knees tighter to her chest. "He'd find a way to weaponize it into a condition eventually. He always does." She looked at me. "I told him I'd give him a second chance at being a real father. But he has to apologize first. He told me he doesn't think he did a single thing wrong."

"He'll come around," I offered.

She let out a harsh breath through her nose. Then she looked at me, the corner of her mouth pulling into a wicked smirk. "I have access to your money now, remember? I don't need his."

I laughed.

I shifted, lying down and resting my head in her lap.

"Get off me," she complained, pushing at my shoulder. "You stink."

"I do not."

"You do. You've been sweating in the city all day." She pushed harder against my head. "Go take a shower."

"I'm comfortable right here."

"Xavier."