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He knew that he should just pick up his phone and call Teresa.
Talk and hash things out.
But…truthfully, he was more than a little hurt.
She’d flown off the handle; she’d told him to fuck off.
She’d…thought he would lie to her.
He’d opened up to her more than he’d opened up to anyone and…
Hell, he wanted to sit and be mad and be hurt and—
“Christ,” he muttered, plunking his coffee mug down on the table and scrubbing his hands over his face.
His phone was right there.
Rightthere.
But…was it what he wanted?
WasTeresawhat he wanted?
Fuck, what if he was being an idiot? What if he was so focused on what he shouldn’t be, that he wasn’t thinking clearly about what he wanted?
What if he woke up one morning and realized it wasn’t Teresa?
The thought ricocheted through him like a bullet, zigzagging through his heart, his lungs, his stomach.
And so did the answer.
No.
The only thing he was certain of was that Teresa was it for him.
Which meant he needed to get off his ass, stop being hurt, and do something about it.
Right.
He stood, reached for his coffee mug, turned for the house, and—
Froze.
Because Teresa was there.
She looked…horrible. Dark circles under her eyes, hair a mess, expression…frazzled.
“Baby?”
Her face crumpled.
“Shit, Teresa. What’s the matter?”
“I—” She’d been moving toward him, but his query stopped her in her tracks. “What’s the matter? What’s thematter?”
Okay, so that probably had been a stupid question.
“Come here,” he whispered, opening his arms.
