Page 221 of Romeo

I walked out the back door and left him sitting on the floor.

He didn’t need to know who I was.

He needed to know what would happen if I ever had a reason to come back.

By the time I reached the motel on the edge of town, exhaustion had started catching up with the miles. I paid cash, carried the go-bag inside, and locked the door behind me. I stretched out on the bed without bothering to undress.

Marcus Webb had made a mistake.

Not only because Fiona belonged to me.

Webb’s mistake was believing her choice didn’t matter.

She’d tried to walk away.

He’d stopped her.

Everything after that was between him and me.

I stared at the ceiling while the silence of the motel settled around me.

King wanted me to let Fiona choose me in her own time.

I would—that promise hadn’t changed tonight.

Neither had the other part of me that was capable of crossing half the country because someone put fear in her voice.

Fiona would eventually see that man too. Maybe not tomorrow and maybe not because I sat her down and gave her a list of everything I’d done in her name. But if she chose a life with me, she deserved the whole truth eventually.

Then she could decide what to do with it.

For now, she was sleeping safely at Granny’s house, believing the man from the gas station had been frightened off by Frank.

I closed my eyes.

In the morning, I’d call Fiona like I promised.

Tonight, knowing she was safe would have to be enough.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Fiona

By Sunday, the bruises around my wrist had faded from angry purple to a sickly yellow that looked worse than it felt. I’d stopped rubbing at them whenever someone was nearby because every time I did, Granny noticed. Then Frank noticed Granny noticing, and Georgie somehow knew about it five minutes later.

The first two days after the gas station had been ridiculous. Frank insisted on following me to work. Georgie showed up at the Creamery before closing and sat at a table with a cup of coffee he barely touched until I finished my shift. When I pointed out that I’d managed to survive eighteen years without an armed escort, Georgie reminded me that surviving wasn’t exactly the standard he was aiming for.

Granny had been quieter about it. She simply started leaving the porch light on earlier.

Tonight it glowed through the front window even though I’d been home for hours.

I was stretched across one end of the couch with my feet tucked beneath me while Granny watched a home renovation show. The couple on television had spent the last ten minutes arguing about whether knocking down a wall would destroy the character of a hundred-year-old house. Granny had firmly sided with the wall.

“People need rooms,” she muttered. “Nobody wants to sit in their kitchen and stare at the toilet down the hallway.”

I looked up from my phone. “I don’t think that’s what open concept means.”

“That’s where it starts.” She pointed at the television. “Mark my words. Take down one wall, and next thing you know, you’re brushing your teeth beside the refrigerator.”