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27
MIRANDA
Unshaven and with circles under his eyes, Lachlan rubbed his face and stared at me.
A million thoughts charged through my mind. I’d resolved to tell him to leave me alone so that I could live a sane life and focus on my goals.
But instead of telling him to leave, I set my phone down and pointed at the door. “You better close that.”
My brain demanded that I stick to my resolve, but he looked so crushed. I couldn’t kick him out. It would have been too cruel.
“When were you released?” I asked.
“Three hours ago.”
His eyes hadn’t left mine. He didn’t even blink, and I had to look away to gather my senses.
The last couple of days had been the hardest I’d ever experienced. To avoid falling into a rabbit hole of despair, I threw myself into work. I found three promising artists and managed to sign a lease for a refurbished seventies condo within walking distance of the Artefactory.
Things were going well, except that I hadn’t stopped crying.
I’d raced into life head on, fearful of pausing. Night fell, and with it came pain and an endless stream of memories. I kept seeing Lachlan’s warm presence, his eyes reflecting a belief in me. “He’s a good guy,” my heart kept insisting.
“Can we go somewhere to talk?” He spoke at last.
“We can talk here.”
With each step he took toward me, my heart rate increased.
“Miranda, I love you.”
I searched his unflinching gaze for traces of pretense but only found the soft, tender glint my soul recognized.
I loved him, too, despite hating him just as madly.
His hand landed on mine, sending a shock of energy through me.
“I didn’t go near Tamara. She came to me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, snapping out of my Lachlan-besotted twilight zone and removing my hand.
He walked over to the window. “I don’t know. It was so fucked up. It disgusted me to even think about it, let alone talk about it.” He kept his back to me. “I was afraid you might not believe me and get the wrong idea.”
Lachlan finally turned and looked at me. I remained silent, despite a barrage of questions banking up.
“Why didn’t you report it?” I asked after he kept penetrating me with his impossibly blue eyes.
He huffed loudly. “I wish I had. If I could rewind the clock, I would.”
“Britney…” I croaked. A sob had tightened my throat.
“What did she say?” He came closer, and I smelled his blood-heating scent, breathing him in as I would a rose.
“She told me what happened in the shower and that you’d tried to hit on Tamara on a few occasions.”
His brow furrowed. “That’s fucking bullshit. I can’t stand that woman. I have never liked her. And as far as being attracted…” He rubbed his neck. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You can’t believe that, surely.”
My wall of resistance broke, and tears fell to my cheeks.
