Page 83 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

“Can you just give me another chance?”

I looked at Maeve. Her face had gone from furious to painfully calm.

“No,” I said.

Damien’s voice dropped. “Please.”

The please hurt more than the insults, and I hated him a little for that.

“I’m staying in England,” I said. “I’m not coming back to Boston.”

“What?”

“I’m finishing my studies online.”

“Because of whoever you ran off with?”

“Because of me.”

“Marli.”

“Mary,” I said, and silence opened on the line.

Maeve’s eyes filled.

I looked away. “My name is Mary,” I said. “And I don’t want you to call me again.”

For once, Damien didn’t have an answer ready and I ended the call.

My hand shook when I set the phone on the bed. “He doesn’t know.”

Maeve didn’t speak immediately. That was kind of her. Or terrifying. With Maeve, those things often shared the same space.

“Forget Damien. Are you okay?“ she finally asked.

I leaned back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling. “I hate feelings.”

Maeve grinned. “Everyone sensible does.”

“Do you need a lift to the clinic tomorrow?” Maeve asked.

I closed my eyes.

The circle sat in my calendar like a tiny, glowing dare. Maeve saw me looking. “Did you tell them?”

Mac thundered down the hallway before I could argue. Mila followed at a less reliable speed, shrieking with laughter while someone, probably Ivan, called after them in Russian and then in English to please not give Fergus any chocolate.

Maeve stood. “Duty calls.”

“Your duty sounds sticky.”

“It often is.” She paused at the door and looked back at me. “Tell them about the appointment.”

“Bossy,” I said again, but there was no heat in it.

She smiled. “You can thank me later.” Then she left, closing the door softly behind her as Mac shouted something about Fergus being innocent, which suggested Fergus was absolutely not innocent.

The room went quiet.