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“I wanted to apologize,” he says smoothly. “For what happened earlier.”
“You don’t have to,” I reply, keeping my voice low. “Sorry, I’m kind of busy now.”
“Yeah, she’s kind of busy,” says a deep voice just behind me.
I pivot, loosening my grip on the door which opens wider, to find Kohl standing just ten feet away, his face as vicious as thunder.
Fuck.
I find Grey’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t—”
“Do you need help?” he asks, sliding his increasingly harsh glare onto the man behind me.
“No. She doesn’t need any fucking help.”
“Kohl, stop.”
“I’m sorry,” responds Grey after a moment, “but I don’t believe you.”
“Indie,” growls the man behind me. “Close the fucking door so we can finish talking. I’m not done here.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I tried to explain. I’m done.” I turn to face him, hoping to create a barrier between him and Grey. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to drag this out.”
“I swear to God, if you let him into this apartment.”
“I won’t. I promise.” My gaze locates Grey’s. “Can you just go back home?”
“I’ll wait outside. That’s the best I can do.”
I open the door wide. Kohl’s expression pleads with mine but I shake my head, watching as he yanks his coat off the hook after a moment, puts on his shoes and leaves.
As he sees Grey standing fifteen feet away near his door, Kohl stops to face him, taking a moment to breathe as if restraining himself before leaving, turning the corner until he’s out of sight.
As the elevator dings and I hear the door slide shut, I thank Grey, who takes hold of my arm as I turn to go back inside.
“Wait a minute.”
“I can’t talk now,” I say. “It’s not fair to him. I just need to be alone for a bit. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Indie…”
“I’m sorry.”
I close the door, sitting down on the floor, still a little shaken but glad it’s over.
* * *
Two hours, two glasses of white wine and a truckload of guilt later, I hold my stomach with my hand, feeling a little nauseous.
I mean, that could have gone worse, but it still left me unsettled.
What’s worse is, I got myself into that mess thinking I could handle something casual when I clearly can’t.
If I'm going to heal, I’ll do it alone with my family and friends and not count on a man to help me through, even a man as decent as Kohl.
I get to my feet, scanning the living room, picking up a glass from the coffee table and putting it into the dishwasher.
I take a sponge from the sink and wipe down the kitchen cabinets for the third time, wanting to make sure the place is spotless for when Carrie gets here in an hour.
