Page 7 of Crowbar

“Spencer.” Ken’s tone shifted, becoming even softer than before. “Please. I drove forty minutes.”

“Nobody asked you to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to.” A pause. “I miss you.”

Three manipulative words that he knew hit me in the exact spot where my armor was thinnest. I’d spent twenty-three years building walls out of sarcasm and deflection, yet Ken had found the one crack in my armor and poured himself through it every single time.

My hand rested on the deadbolt, barely registering the cold metal as my brain warred with itself.

Don’t open it. You know how this goes. He shows up, he’s charming, he says everything right, and you spend the next three weeks untangling the mess he left inside your head.

But what if he actually changed this time? What if you’re being unfair?

Ken never had to break down the door. He just had to make me feel guilty enough to open it.

I turned the deadbolt and swung the door open.

There he stood. Six feet of conventionally handsome, dark hair styled just so, with a jawline that belonged on a cologne ad. Nothing like the rough angle of Biker’s.

Wonder how Noodles is doing.

Ken was wearing the soft grey Henley I’d bought him two Christmases ago, which was a choice so calculated it made my teeth grind. His warm smile reached his hazel eyes. It appeared genuine, but I was well acquainted with the monster lurking behind them.

“Hey.” He said it like he was genuinely glad to see me. I saw through the act. Ken wanted something and was pouring on the charm.

His hands were tucked casually inside his pockets, posture carefully nonthreatening. “Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Spence—”

I moved to close the door, but his hand caught the edge, applying just enough pressure to hold it open. I am such a fucking idiot.

“Five minutes.” He gave me that wounded look that used to gut me. “That’s all I’m asking. After that, if you still want me gone, I’ll leave.”

“I wanted you gone eight months ago. The restraining order was pretty clear on that. You’re not allowed to be here.”

Something flickered behind his expression, but vanished too fast for me to read. “The order expired yesterday.”

Christ. He’d been counting the days, waiting for the legal barrier to dissolve so he could show up at my door. And I’d been stupid enough to open it.

Because I’d allowed my loneliness to override my survival instincts. That’s what they would etch on my headstone. Here lies Spencer Hayes. Zero survival instincts. Even less common sense. General Patton calls him an asshole in his hour-long eulogy. The fish honor Spencer with a one-bubble salute.

Get out of your head and pay attention to the active threat standing right in front of you.

“That doesn’t mean the invitation renewed.” My voice held steady. I was proud of that. But internally, I was shaking like crazy.

“I know.” He held up both hands, palms out. I’d seen those hands put a hole in my wall. I’d felt them grip my arm hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises behind. The gesture meant nothing. “I’m not here to cause problems.”

If he wasn’t, he would’ve walked away when I tried to close the door, not force me to keep it open.

I leaned against the doorframe, blocking the entrance with my body. Not that I could physically stop him if he decided to push past me. Ken had six inches and seventy pounds on me. But the doorframe was mine, and I planted myself in it like a fence post.

His jaw worked. I watched the muscle jump, the telltale sign I was walking a very thin line. In the old days, that look would’ve sent me backpedaling, softening, rewording everything until the sharp edges were sanded down.

We weren’t in the old days anymore.

“You look good,” he said, switching tactics with the smoothness of someone changing lanes on an empty highway. His eyes dropped to the flour on my arms, the frosting on my chin. “Tell me what has you baking.”