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Then the floor disappeared beneath the dark.

22

SLOANE

HUDSON, THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE

Missy had just set a fresh mug of coffee in front of me when my phone began vibrating on the table.

I ignored it.

Missy glanced at it as she settled Owen into the high chair beside us. “Do you need to get that?”

“No.” The answer came too quickly.

Her eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t press.

I’d spent the last forty minutes apologizing. Not well. There was no graceful way to explain that I had withdrawn from my cousin because her happiness made me feel inadequate. I had stumbled through the truth while Missy listened with one hand wrapped around her mug and Owen repeatedly dropped a plastic spoon onto the floor.

Each time it fell, Missy picked it up. By the fifth repetition, she slid it out of his reach.

He looked personally betrayed.

“I was jealous,” I had admitted. “Not of the baby specifically. At least not only the baby. You had a husband and a career and a house and a plan. Everything in your life kept moving forward, and mine felt stalled.”

Missy had been quiet for a moment. Then she said, “You could have told me.”

“I know.”

“I would have understood.”

“I know that now.”

“You knew it then too.”

That hurt because she was right.

I had known Missy would listen. I’d avoided her because listening might have led to questions, and questions might have forced me to admit I was unhappy.

She hadn’t forgiven me completely. Not that I expected her to. But she had let me inside. She had given me coffee. She had let me hold Owen after making me wash my hands twice because she didn’t want to risk him getting sick.

That counted as more grace than I deserved.

My phone vibrated again.

“Is that the family group chat?” Missy asked.

I shook my head.

I had told her the whole story.

Not every supernatural detail. I hadn’t figured out how to reveal a hidden population of shifters without causing a separate crisis. Still, I had explained that I entered a family chat under the wrong identity, became involved with them, and was exposed.

Missy had listened without interrupting.

When I finished, she said, “That’s much worse than the Thanksgiving when you told Aunt Deborah her marriage was a hostage situation.”

I laughed. “I was only thirteen.”