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Eyes empty, smile bland, expression blank. “Connor,” she said woodenly.
“Raven.”
If her words were vacant,hiswere frost-filled.
He didn’t mean them to be, and he felt a bolt of guilt slide through him when she flinched.
Hank sucked in a breath but didn’t move. Just stood there like he was waiting for an explosion to rent the air—and maybe he was.
An explosion between him and Raven wouldn’t have been all that much of a surprise.
But three months had passed, and they hadn’t spoken and—
“I need to talk to you,” she whispered.
Connor’s brows shot up.
“I’m going to step inside and check on that grout,” Hank said. “Make sure they matched the color properly.”
Connor wasn’t sure what that meant, and he didn’t particularly care, not when it meant that Hank walked into the house and left them alone.
“Raven?” he prompted when she didn’t speak after several long moments.
Her head jerked up. “I’m sorry.”
He rocked back on his heels, eyes going wide, mouth dropping open. “What?”
She licked her lips. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For everything.” Her stare wasn’t blank any longer, not in the least. It was ravaged, and it stabbed him in the same wounded spot in his belly that her words and actions had skewered him over and over again. “I know it’s not nearly enough, but—” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Raven—”
“I need to…” She turned away, started for the path that would lead to her car.
“Raven.” He caught her arm then promptly dropped it when she winced. “Shit. I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s fine,” she whispered. “I’m healed. It—it’s all just a bit sensitive.”
“Why did you go?”
Her throat worked, eyes sliding away. “I’ve been…well, it doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “I needed time to heal and think and…” She cleared her throat. “And I got it.”
“Sweetheart—”
“I’m sorry.” She skittered back a step. “And I—I need to go.”
Then she put those words to action.
And he was left wondering what in the fuck all had just happened to make her react that way.
Leaving—thatwas familiar.
Because nothing else about her—not the blank eyes and the empty expression, not the sorrow clinging to her apology, not the apology itself—was normal.
Her skin was tanned, her hair streaked from the sun.
Like she’d just gotten back from a beach vacation.
Only she didn’t have the relaxed aura of weeks away from reality.
