Mr. Director.
But, to be honest, if I looked in the mirror right now, I would think the same of the woman staring back and how I’d treated my sister over the years.
I’d never wanted to hurt Rachel; everything I’d ever done and said was because I loved her. Because I thought she deserved so much better and couldn’t stand that she couldn’t see it. But now, it was hard not to wonder whether my own trauma had aggravated hers.
“Well, maybe start by asking him about the difference between filter and French press, and see where things go,” I suggested warmly.
“Filter or French press,” Cassius repeated like I’d just spoken Greek.
“Yeah.”
He stared at me for a long second, and then his head jerked to the hall. A second later, I heard Sarah’s footsteps approach, which Cassius seemed to catch sooner than I did.
“Do you want to take the four-wheeler up to Callum’s?” he offered.
“I’d rather walk.” Then I’d have some time to figure out what to say to Calder after last night. After that kiss.
With a nod, Cassius went to meet Sarah, and I followed to say goodbye.
After one more hug on the front porch, I watched her walk toward the old red Ford parked on the gravel, the truck looking like it hadn’t been started in a decade and might not start at all.
Cassius paused beside me on the top step, his expression grim. “His mother’s death isn’t the only thing Calder’s taken responsibility for that doesn’t belong to him.”
Chapter 22
Lara
The truck was long gone, Sarah on her way to safety and freedom, and I was still left wishing Cassius had given me time to ask what he’d meant. I doubted it could be about anything other than my sister, but how would he know what Rachel had been through? Why would he insist the blame shouldn’t be laid at Calder’s feet?
The thought dug like a splinter into my mind. The more I picked and pulled and tried to work it out, the deeper the notion of Calder’s innocence was buried.
“Lara!”
My head snapped up, my gaze having fallen to my feet marching along the path between the Stone house and Callum’s Watchtower. My gait faltered, seeing Calder walking toward me.
He didn’t move like a man injured. At least, not physically. The darker shadow of his short beard, the hollows under his eyes, and the firm line of that oh-so-dangerous mouth told a different story.
We both slowed and then stopped. The foot and a half of space between us was almost comical, considering his tongue had been down my throat and I’d been grinding on his lap, on his thick arousal, last night.
“Are you okay?” I asked, searching for any sign otherwise.
“Fine. Are you?” His husky voice confirmed he hadn’t slept as soundly as I had.
“Me? I’m not the one who was stabbed by a crazy man,” I blurted out, to which he stared and folded his arms, clearly still expecting my answer. My lips pinched tight before I huffed, “Yes, I’m fine. I ate. Your dad made breakfast, and he just left to take Sarah to the airport.”
Calder nodded. “She said she wanted to go home.”
“It’s for the best.” My eyes dipped, catching the breeze ripple his shirt right where his blood had splotched his scrubs last night. “Can I take a look at your wound, please?”
“It was superficial. I sterilized and bandaged it. It’s fine—”
“And as the medical professional, I’d like to confirm that.”
Calder didn’t budge.Damned stubborn man.The sun glinted harshly off his gold-chipped gaze, but I wasn’t going to back down. After a minute, he blew out a hard exhale and, wincing at the effort, hauled up the edge of his shirt.
The V. Those abs ... But as soon as my eyes locked on his wound, I went from internally drooling to doctor mode.
I went to him, spanning my hands over his abdomen and hearing his low hiss.Forcing myself to ignore it.