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Raven braced.
She’d expected this.
Hell, she’d expected them to show up on the front porch of the rental, having used Chance and Carter’s PI skills to track her down.
She’d used her credit card to pay the booking fee, mostly because she kept enough cash on her for a cup of coffee or a sandwich in the cafeteria, but not enough to cover two—then three when she’d extended her stay—months of rent of an oceanfront house.
But she’d paused an hour out of town, an hour and a half after she’d snuck out from Connor’s and retrieved her car to text them.
To let them know she was okay and needed some space.
And that she’d be back.
She’d texted occasionally in the group chat after that. Not falling off from the face of the planet—though they might not see it the same way—but staying connected in a way she hoped told them exactly how important they were to her when her first instinct had been to cut and run.
The past had reared its ugly head.
Her future was tainted. Her friends were at risk.
Except, she had ties in Darlington.
A job. Friends that had become more family than her own flesh and blood and DNA. A house she’d worked her ass off for.
The last of which had been in shambles.
But it wasn’t now.
And neither was she.
Partly because of the time away, but mostly because of the time awayandAuntie Pat.
Maggie cleared her throat again and Raven bent, folding in the other leg as she glanced up at her friend. No. At herfriends, as in plural. As in Maggie and Misty, Kim and Frankie and Soph all gathered around her and that table she was packing up. “You guys good?” she asked, affecting calm, even as her heart began to pound against her ribs.
Maggie lifted her brows.
Misty tilted her head.
Frankie pressed her lips flat, displeasure on her face.
Kim’s eyes went wide.
Soph studied her closely.
An inquisition.
Great.
“You disappeared on us,” Kim said softly.
It was the hurt that set Raven’s knees wobbling, her throat going tight. “I…” She’d been prepared to say she hadn’t, to mention the texts, the group chats. But it was thehurtin her friend’s eyes—and not just Kim’s, inallof their eyes—that stopped her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t…in a good place.”
Maggie snorted. “I think we registered that loud and clear.”
“What was going through your head?” Misty asked gently.
To run the fuck away. To put distance between herself and the person she was becoming. To avoid this type of conversation because it was a fucking nightmare.
