But I don’t move. I just sit there, waiting.
Maybe this time will be different.
Maybe it won’t.
Chapter Thirty
Jared
The back door clicks shut behind me, swallowing the night air and replacing it with the lingering scent of the Thai food we ate for dinner.
I had cleaned up as best I could in the work shop before finally dragging myself back to the cottage.
Without Emily, the rooms are too empty, the silence broken only by the soft pad of Mixie’s paws as she follows me into the kitchen. Her green eyes fix on me with accusation, as if I’m the reason her person hasn’t returned.
“Don’t give me that look.” I rub my palm across my chest where an ache has settled. “I told her not to go.”
Mixie responds with a flat meow and trots to her food bowl, sitting beside it with her tail flicking back and forth across the tile. The dish gleams under the kitchen light, licked clean from her dinner.
“Don’t think I’m not wise to your tricks.” I pull open the cabinet door, finding the bag of premium kibble. “You ate less than an hour ago.”
The cat stretches, front paws extending, back arching, then settles again by her bowl, the picture of imperious expectation.
I crouch and pour kibble into her dish, the dry pieces clinking in the ceramic. Mixie sniffs at the food before nibbling with dainty bites.
“Emily will be back soon,” I tell her, though the words ring hollow even to my ears. “She just went to check on… someone.”
Not someone.Auren. Bitter discontent fills me, and I shake more kibble into Mixie’s dish, pampering the cat because her owner won’t let me take care of her.
Kibbles spill onto the floor, and I right the bag. “Sorry. Not very good at this, am I?”
Mixie ignores my question, focused on her dinner. I fill her water bowl next, using the filtered water from the refrigerator.
Setting it on the floor, I drift back to the diningroom, but there’s nothing for me to clean up. I had scrubbed the wooden surface before following Emily out to the workshop earlier.
The wall clock reads nine forty-two.
Almost an hour since she left.
What’s happening at that hospital? Is she sitting with Auren? Is she falling for his act again, piece by piece?
I pace to the window, pulling back the curtain. Outside, darkness blankets the garden, broken only by the pale circle of the porch light. No sign of her truck in the driveway.
Logically, I know it’s too soon for her to be back, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying that she’ll fall back under his spell.
I try to distract myself with the television, but the colors blur and the voices merge into meaningless noise. A book from Emily’s shelf sits open in my lap, pages unturned for twenty minutes.
Mixie leaps onto the couch beside me, kneading the cushion before settling in a tight circle. Her purr fills the air, a constant rhythm that fails to soothe.
What if she doesn’t come back tonight? What if Auren convinces her to stay? What if he?—
My mind supplies an image of Emily leaning close to Auren with that tender look I’ve only seendirected at Quinn or me. Her silver hair falling forward as she bends to hear his whispered pleas. The same calloused hands that had pulled me closer just hours ago are now gentle on his bruised skin.
The scene twists in my gut.
As ten thirty arrives, the cottage walls close in, the silence roaring in my ears. Even Mixie’s purr fades beneath the thunder of my pulse. I pace from the kitchen to the living room, always circling back toward my phone on the coffee table.
No text messages. No calls.