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“Addison!”
I stilled, my brows dipping. There was no urgency in his voice. More like exasperation laced with incredulity. “What is it?” I called out as I made my way to the staircase.
“There’s something you need to see on the patio,” he replied.
I skipped down the stairs and walked straight outside. “What’s wrong?” I asked him.
He arched a brow and pointed a finger. “Want to tell me what that’s about?”
I looked down to see what he was pointing at and … oh. Clearing my throat, I scratched my neck. “You surely know enough about cats to be aware that it’s a gift.”
“What I know is that cats generally leave rodents as gifts, yes. They don’t usually sadistically savage them.”
No, they didn’t, but Gypsy was … different. Not about to admit that my pet was quite possibly as sadistic as he claimed, I raised my shoulders and said, “It would seem that things got out of hand. Maybe the mouse tried to flee or something.”
“So Gypsy felt the need to brutalize it? Makes sense,” he deadpanned.
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll clean it up. Didn’t realize you’re so squeamish.”
“I’m not squeamish, I’m simply not keen on having mauled rodents and smears of blood left all over our patio.”
Yeah, it was quite a mess.
“It’s like she toyed with it before she killed it.”
“Cats have been known to play with—” I cut off at the knock on the front door. “You answer that. I’ll deal with the mouse.” Or what was left of it.
With a grunt, Dax walked away.
I headed straight to the kitchen and dug into a particular cupboard. Pulling out the dustpan and brush, I straightened.
And went still as a familiar voice reached me.
No, it couldn’t be him. He wouldn’t come here. He just wouldn’t.
But he had.
The words he spoke weren’t properly distinguishable, but I recognized his voice. What the hell was he thinking coming here?
I dropped the dustpan and brush on the floor and then began a swift walk down the hallway, following Dax’s voice coming from the living room …
“Let’s skip the small talk, Grayden,” he said, impatience coating every syllable. “I was clear you’d need to make this quick.”
“I get that I’m the last person you’d want to see,” said our visitor, his voice carefully steady, low, and appeasing. “I can understand if you’re pissed. You have every right to be.I’dbe pissed in your position. But I’m not here to argue. I’m not here to make excuses. What happened earlier wasnotacceptable—I was very clear on that to Felicity.”
He was here about her scene, I realized. I could easily envision her returning to their home seething and ranting about me; could easily envision him panicking that she’d suffer for her actions.
“Believe me when I say I’m furious about it,” Grayden went on. “But I’m hoping we can avoid this turning into something ugly.”
I turned the corner that led into the living area just as Dax narrowed his eyes and asked, “What exactly is it you’re furious about?”
Grayden frowned, his neck stiff, his muscles strained. “You don’t know?”
As I stepped more fully into the room, the attention of both males transferred to me.
Suspicion and agitation warred for supremacy in Dax’s eyes. There was also an unspoken accusation there.
“I was about to spill everything,” I assured him. “But then your phone rang.”
