AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Stored it under lock and key.
Stow safely out of sight.
Sighing, she pressed the button to lock her phone and stared down at the bedspread. Plain gray with threads of blue. Simple, but elegant. Put together.
No burn marks or holes or frayed edges.
Not the crappy tattered blanket she’d used growing up, not the expensive bedspread that had been turned to ash in the fire.
Simple. Elegant. Nothers.
Tears.
Thosewere hers.
Except, she didn’t cry. Not unless it was a sappy romantic movie and she was with the girls, sniffles happening all around. She definitely didn’t cry about her past and all the things she couldn’t change, all the things that wouldneverchange.
Right then, though, she couldn’t stop moisture from filling her eyes, from leaking out beyond her lashes, from dripping down her cheeks.
She swiped at them angrily, hating them, hating herself.
Then hating herself more when a sob hiccupped through her middle.
Ithurt…and not just because of the pain radiating through her sides.
It hurt in that place deep inside her—
“Sweetheart.”
She jerked, cell falling to the bed, head coming up and…fuck her life.
Connor was standing inside the door, expression filled with concern. Paired with that soft endearment and…
She knew he’d heard.
Of course he had.
So… Fuck. Her. Life.
But even as that slid through her, she processed the rest of him, processed and grasped at the tiny straw it gave her. A distraction. Perfect. A way to pick a fight so he wouldn’t look at her gently. Even better. “Why are you in just your underwear?”
Hejerked and glanced down, like he’d forgotten he was just on display like some damned Greek god of yummy muscles and golden skin and just the right amount of chest hair. “My change of clothes disappeared.” A shrug.
“Disappeared,” she stated drolly.
Another shrug, but though she turned away from him, though she picked up her cell and deliberately began to ignore him, the infuriating man didn’t leave the room, didn’t go get dressed like most civilized people would. He just stated calmly like that was a normal thing to have happened—clothes disappearing, him standing in her room in his skivvies—then crossed to the bed, plunked himself on the edge of the mattress next to her, and asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Talk?
Fuck no.
Disappear into the ether—and especially disappear from the fact this man looked as good beneath his clothes as she’d imagined? Definitely.
She’d imagined a lot.
Stupid.
Then again, she’d proved that she was an idiot more than a few times in her life.
