Page 135 of When We Were Young

I know it’s not true, but it still hurts to hear him say it.

“Get off my property. Now,” I hiss.

He smirks.

He always knew when he was getting under my skin, and I hate it.

“But the most pitiful thing is that, even with you overlooking all those things, he’s still not going to stay. Not for a woman like you. You couldn’t even keep your own father around⁠—”

“Get. Out. I won’t say it again. Leave, or I’m calling the sheriff.”

“No need. I’ll be sure to let you know when my offer is accepted, and we’ll officially be friendly competitors. Until then...”

He turns and walks out the door.

I count to five, then I race for the door and lock it.

And now I know for sure, I’m never going to be free of this man.

Chapter Forty-Six

Holden

The look in Lizette's eyes—one I recognize—strikes fear in my heart. It’s a look I’ll never forget because it’s haunted me for over a decade.

The bottle of wine on the coffee table is half empty. That’s unusual for her.

“What’s going on?” I struggle to keep my voice steady.

She doesn’t look at me. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

It’s not just that. I’m sure of it. “Come on. I’ve seen you exhausted before. This seems like more than that.”

A half-hearted sigh escapes her, and she bites down on her lower lip. She has dark circles under her eyes, and I find myself desperate to figure out what’s wrong with her.

“I told you not to come, that I was tired.”

Ouch. “You didn’t say not to come. You said I didn’t have to. But I wanted to.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” She doesn’t acknowledge my last words.

Her words aren’t even remotely reassuring.

“Did something happen between when Simon and I left and when you got to the party?”

She says nothing.

I glance down at her hands in her lap. She’s scratching one fingernail against another. My anxiety rises. She’s not fine.

“You didn’t come with all the cupcakes you were working on.” The words come out like I’d intended—gentle.

Still nothing, to the point that it’s almost uncomfortable.

She steals a glance at me, but her eyes dart back to her lap.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

She turns her whole head toward me, her eyes pleading. Though I’m not sure for what. To stop talking? To listen?