Dammit.What have I done?Talk about conflict of interest.
Toby would kill me if he knew, and worst of all, if I had to do it again, I wouldn’t do anything differently.
Something within me splinters, equal parts panic at not wanting to change a thing and something far more dangerous—want.Residual, aching, threaded through every place he touched me.
I shift carefully, easing out from under his arm, and the mattress dips enough for him to murmur something in his sleep.I glance at him, and a heady rush causes the room to swim.One look shouldn’t affect me like this.Not when I crossed every line I’m supposed to uphold.My desire should be quelled, temptation vanquished.
If only.
This can only happen once.That’s it.
I sit on the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet to my chest as if modesty can fix what already happened.I’m a reporter.I’m here to do a job.Not lose myself to the first man who looks at me like he sees something worth holding.A small, traitorous part of me hopes it wasn’t sympathy.
That he wanted me.
Really wanted me.
Not out of grief or misplaced tenderness or lust masquerading as something bigger.But what if that’s exactly what it was?Heat.Need.A moment.A lapse.
Maybe it’s better if it was.My fingers thread through my hair and pull.
Fuck, I can’t do this.Why do I care if this was just a casual fuck?That’s all it can be.
I swallow around the dryness in my throat at the thought of what comes next.Can we even come back from this?Pretend nothing happened?Pretend last night wasn’t… whatever it was?
I pull on my clothes piece by piece, each article grounding me, dragging me back into the version of myself I recognize.The one who keeps people at a distance.Who avoids risk.Who doesn’t mistake sex for some kind of deep connection.
Behind me, he shifts again, sheets whispering around his waist.My heart jerks, and my gaze snags on his magnificent chest, the very one that was pressed against me last night.My fingers itch to touch him… and that’s my cue to get out of here.
I sling my coat over my arm, boots in one hand, and move silently toward the door.My hand trembles on the knob, and I’m not sure what makes me feel sicker.
Running into Blane when I open this door would destroy my career, any respect Toby has for me, and any chance of justice for Cary.The kiss-ass would run straight to Toby.
I can’t let this be anything, and yet the queasiness roiling within me at the thought of this being nothing hollows me out, even though deep down I know it has to be.
Chapter26
Grace
By evening, the house feels the way I imagine holidays are supposed to feel—too full, too loud, humming with the kind of warmth that makes it hard to think straight.Not that I’d know.
Thanksgiving at my parents’ was never like this.In fact, they haven’t even noticed I’m not in Los Angeles.My quick text to my mother on the way out of town was read, and that’s it.I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised since we only talk if we must.
Early this morning, I made it back to my room unseen after leaving Maddox’s bed.I couldn’t think straight or stay still, so I laced up my sneakers and ran until my lungs burned and my thoughts thinned enough to manage.
When I returned, Meri and Katie were already deep into Thanksgiving mode with aprons on, music playing, and the kitchen a flurry of motion.
After my shower, as I’m getting dressed, my phone rings.
Morgan.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”A swath of guilt skates down my spine; I haven’t spoken to her in months.
There was a time when we spoke daily, sometimes several times a day.Morgan was on a first date with Cary when he was killed, and in the aftermath, the two of us became irrevocably linked.Her friendship is the only thing good to come from my brother’s death.
“I should be asking you the same question.”Traffic in the background muffles her voice.“Where are you?”
“What?”