Page 73 of Her Unending Horizon

As their lines took shape, so did the shape of what I already knew I was going to do.

When the clock on the stove blinked past four, I dropped the pen, grabbed my keys, and called Michael Rankin.

By the time I hung up, I knew exactly what time Zarek was getting off shift, and I knew exactly where I was going to be when he pulled into the driveway.

I wasn’t going to rescue him.

But I was damn sure going to stop pretending I didn’t have skin in this game.

I grabbed my bag and headed for Jasper Creek.

By the time his truck’s engine rumbled up the street, I’d worn a groove into the living room rug, erasing every vacuum track.

I’d let myself into the house with my key and my car was parked in “my” spot like it was any other Tuesday.

It felt like trespassing and coming home at the same time.

I heard the engine cut off. Heard the familiar creak of the truck’s driver’s side door and the dull thud when he shut it.

My heart tried to climb into my throat.

I walked to the foyer, crossed my arms to keep from fidgeting, and planted my feet.

The lock clicked. The door opened.

He stepped inside, his big hand still on the knob, and froze when he saw me.

For a second, surprise flared across his face. Then his mouth curved, quick and involuntary.

“Damn,” he said, voice rough with exhaustion and something else. “I was hoping for the orange dress.”

I arched a brow. “Well, what in the hell have you done lately to deserve me wearing the orange dress?”

His flinch was tiny, but I caught it.

I let my gaze sweep over him, not hiding the fact that I was cataloging his latest injuries. New bruise blossoming along his jawline—yellow at the edges, ugly purple at the center. A faint split at the corner of his mouth. The stiff way he held his shoulders.

It was ninety degrees outside and humid enough to swim through the air. He was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt.

He hates long sleeves in the heat.

“Nice shirt,” I said lightly. “What are we hiding? New tattoos? Or just more reasons for Cappy to bench you?”

He flinched.

“Yeah, I’ve been talking to Michael.”

“Did you really come over here just to give me a hard time?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I said. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Truth was, I didn’t know. Part of me had come for a fight. Part of me had come to see with my own eyes that he was still breathing. The rest of me… had no idea what I was doing, I just knew staying away wasn’t an option anymore.

We stood there in the foyer, the silence between us thick with all the things we hadn’t said in months.

“I’m worried about you,” I said finally, dropping the sarcasm. “You promised you wouldn’t be in any more fights. Why did you go back on your word?”

Something in his expression shuttered. He shut the door gently behind him, like he needed the extra second to pull himself together.