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CHAPTER 3
PIPER
I always thought each day was 24 hours, a constant. Sounds simple enough, right? We all know time might me a construct, but it’s definite, it’s measurable, it’s the same and it doesn’t change.
I was fucking wrong.
Every single one of the last three days has stretched on endlessly. I’m pretty sure every second has been branded on my soul in some way, especially those where Landon has looked at me, his eyes boring into me and making me feel like scum. That is, of course, if he even looks at me to begin with.
It’s as if Landon wants to be this black hole in my life. Where there once was a man, my boss, there is only a void now and I don’t know exactly how to deal with it. I don’t like it.
No, it’s more than that. I hate it.
I hate the way it makes me feel. I hate the way I miss him. I hate the way it feels cold and alone even when I’ve been working surrounded by the rest of the guys of Sullivan Protection.
Everyone has been super sweet, as if they know what happened. Even Hale, who is a bastard at the best of times, has been checking in on me. I swear Remington has turned into an actual golden retriever the last few days. Easton and Weston are the same—they joke with me and pretend like nothing is wrong when we all know it’s not true. Blaze has actually talked to me when before he normally just grunted.
I think the worst are the looks I’ve been getting from Barrett, Colt and Owen. They look at me with pity and it guts me. I know it’s because they’re blissfully happy in their poly-whatever they’re in with Landon’s sister Ella. They’re happy and they’ve been trying to keep it lowkey for me.
Still, hard to keep it lowkey when I can see the vestiges of their tans from the vacation they took to the Bahamas even though it’s been far too long for that tan to be hanging around. Maybe I’m only making it up. Equally possible. It could just be the glow of happiness they wear.
Will I have to look at it forever? Will I be able to stomach it?
Every day it’s become harder and harder to swallow past the lump in my throat.
Remington moves toward me at my reception desk like he’s approaching a feral creature and it only makes me want to scream louder. It makes me want to rant and rage. It makes me want to vent all my frustrations on him.
I know I can’t; none of this is his fault, but the way he’s treating me with kid gloves, along with the rest of the men here, is driving me up the damn wall.
They’ve always relied on me before and now it’s as if they don’t think I’m capable.
Remington lays the mail on my desk, and I narrow my eyes at it, especially the slightly larger envelope which looks like it’s some sort of invitation. It wouldn’t surprise me; the guys get invited to events around the city all the time because people want to be on their good side. What no one realizes is that these men can’t be bought. Not with some fancy schmancy event at least.
Being wined and dined won’t make these men work harder. They take every single client and whatever their problem is seriously. They don’t play favorites. The men of SP only know how to give it their all.
It’s something I’ve admired deeply the entire time I’ve been working here. Now? It feels like a noose around my neck because I realize since nothing happened with Landon, knowing the kind of man he is, I’ve been alone in my feelings this entire time. Landon isn’t the kind of man to hold back. Which is obvious with how strongly he’s thrown himself into avoiding me.
I don’t even understand why he’s so angry. I didn’t do anything wrong.
Do the pictures look good? No, but he didn’t even let me explain and now I might as well be a damn plague of locusts to him.
“I can get the mail all by myself, I’ve been doing it for years,” I snap at Remington whose eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline.
“I know you can,” his voice is gentle and for some reason it only pisses me off more.
I don’t want him to be gentle with me. I don’t want anyone to be walking on eggshells around me. I don’t want there to be a reason for anyone to be treating me differently than they did before.
“Stop it,” I force the words out between my teeth.
“Stop what?”
I huff in exasperation and look into his eyes, standing up and placing my hands flat on my desk. I still don’t get anywhere near his height, but I feel a little more in control when I’m standing. It’s control I desperately want to hold onto and never let go of.
I’m so tired of feeling small, of feeling like I’ve done something wrong, of feeling weak. I’m not fucking weak.
“You know what,” I bite out. I’m seething now. “You all have been walking around here like I’m fucking glass. It doesn’t make any sense. I’m not fragile. I’m fine. Everything is fine,” the last bit comes out as a whine, and I swallow hard, wishing I could take it back and say it differently—with more strength.
“We know you’re not fragile, Piper.” His words are right, but the tone is completely placating, and I want to hurl something at him.
