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Marci drops down in front of me, and she looks so pretty in her strappy top with her new Italy tan. “You know what? I’ll run out and get them. You stay right here. I’ll be back in no time.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Yeah. Thanks, Marce.”
“Of course.” She presses a kiss to the top of my head then dashes out of the bathroom. The front door clicks closed a few minutes later.
Forty
SAVAGE
Stop thinking about it.
Stop thinking about it.
Stop thinking about her leaving town. She won’t be gone for that long. She’ll check in with you. She’ll call.
But I cannot fucking stop thinking about her, no matter how god damn hard I try. So much so, that I want to go over to my laptop and check the video feed from that camera above her doorway. I haven’t taken it down—I managed to convince Hannah to let me keep it there for the last little while she’s in town.
I’m feeling extra fucking protective over her. Maybe because of that call I got a couple of weeks back, maybe because I’m madly in love with her, and I can’t stand the thought of her leaving.
You should tell her.
But I can’t tell her.
If I tell her, it will stop her from leaving, and she wants to go. I have to let her fucking go, and I hate it.
I square up to the punching bag in my garage. I’m covered in sweat, and I’ve already discarded my shirt. I dart close and punch the bag, watching it swing and rattle with every punch. The door to my garage is open, letting in the summer air, and I have a view of the spot where Hannah clung to me in the rain, laughing and staring up at the sky.
It’s fine. She’s fine. I punch after the thoughts.
I’ll get through this. So will she.
And the call I got a couple of weeks ago appeared to be a fluke. I made a couple of calls to my contacts and it looks like Davis is still in prison.
But it’s still under my skin. I’ve told Hannah, she doesn’t seem concerned about it. Why would she be? It’s not like we’re married.
We should get married.
I’m torturing myself.
The crunch of tires on gravel brings me back to the present. Cash’s pick-up rolls up to my log ranch house and parks out front. He hops out, the engine ticking under the hood, and walks over to me.
“What the fuck, Savage,” Cash says.
“And hello to you too, brother.”
“Don’t you dare fucking call me that.” Cash charges toward me, his fists clenched. He’s always let his anger get the better of him, and he squares up with me now, even though he’s a good couple inches shorter.
He pushes me back a step, and I stand my ground. “You good?”
“You broke your promise.”
Fuck.
“You touched Hannah. You messed with my family, Savage. You?—”
“I thought I was your family.”
“You know what the fuck I mean.” He raises a finger and points it at me. I consider it and him.
