Page 106
“Oh. All right.”
There’s a reluctance in her voice, a protective edge to her stance just by my shoulder, and it pinches at something between my ribs. I almost raise my hand to rub it away.
After the pitter-patter of her feet is no more than an echo, Harris sits across from me at the table. We’re both stewing in silence, but he has the upper hand—it’s his house I’m in, his food I’m eating, his team I’ve invaded. I won’t speak first.
“I know you’re angry with me.”
I’m not, I want to argue. It’s not anger, it’s something more raw that claws at me from inside. Something older than anger. But I don’t dare put a name to it.
“And I’m sorry.” He sighs deeply, removing his hat and shoving a hand through his graying dark hair. “I shouldn’t have handled it like that. Not in front of anyone and not LaBlanc. I’m sorry for not listening to you.”
My bones feel too big for my skin. Everything aches, but I don’t know what to do. An apology was the last thing I’d expected. I’d spent an hour outside the house gearing myself up for a disappointed-in-you speech or possibly getting kicked out, depending on how much pull LaBlanc had.
Why does this feel more painful? Like something shredding my insides.
“Say something, Toren. Please.”
I close my eyes and flare my nostrils a little with a heavy breath.
“No—I’m . . . It’s fine,” I shake my head. “You were right. I was upset. Lily and I were . . . friends for a long time. It wasn’t something bad. We were just talking.”
He frowns. “I didn’t think it was something bad. Why would I think that?”
Because Christopher LaBlanc hates me and would spin every story of my youth into weapons designed to get rid of me.
I shrug.
Harris smiles cheekily with a slight laugh under his breath. “I didn’t think it was something bad, son. If anything, I thought it was the opposite.”
“Oh.” He stands and puts his hat back on, spinning it backward.
“When my twenty-two-year-old athlete takes a girl into a storage closet, my assumptions are pretty clear.” Despite my best efforts, a smile slips over my mouth.
Harris steps by my side, looking down at me until I meet his gaze.
“Are we good?”
“Yeah, we’re good.”
He nods and squeezes my shoulder, starting to exit the kitchen, before stopping in the doorway.
“By the way,” he says, spinning back toward me. “Don’t make plans for Friday night. LaBlanc invited us to a dinner at his house—you, me, and Sahara. Holden will be there too.”
And just like that, every ounce of peace he’d brought to me is torn away.
Chapter 42
Toren
“You look very nice, Toren.”
Sahara says it again, another compliment as she looks at me through the rearview mirror with a gentle smile.
“Thank you.”
I’m not in my usual all black, opting to play a bit of LaBlanc’s game. Nice pressed black slacks, slick and shined dress shoes, a leather belt and a tucked-in, starched white shirt. With the sleeves rolled up, because I know how much of an effect my tattoos have on one Lily LaBlanc.
And if I have to suffer through this dinner, so does she.
