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“She’s not.”
“I see that,” he snapped, not upset with his dad but with the situation. “I hoped she’d feel safe here and get some sleep and know that...”
“What?”
“She wasn’t alone,” he admitted. “Her brother left town. Her parents are away. She didn’t have anywhere or anyone to go to. She was in no shape to make a decision last night, so Hunt made it for her.” And Max planned to give his brother hell for putting him on the spot like that.
What the hell had Hunt been thinking?
Kenna didn’t want to be here. In fact, it seemed to be making her worse. She couldn’t even eat with him in the room.
“I’m worried about her.”
Join the club.
His dad gave him that look he got when he wanted Max to do something Max didn’t want to do. “I want you to go up and talk to her. I’m afraid she might be a danger to herself.”
He didn’t want to believe it was that bad. “She’s not going to open up to me.”
“You know her best. You’ll be able to tell if I’m right. I hope I’m not. But I don’t want to be wrong.”
Neither did Max, even if he thought his dad was setting him up. Just like Hunt.
“Fine. I’ll go check on her.”
His dad grinned. “Thank you, son.”
Max felt played, but walked back up to the house with his dad anyway. After seeing her when he returned to the house before dinner—the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, the haunted look in them, the fact that she still looked on the verge of tears every moment—he needed to know that this was just the grief and trauma, not something more dire. Because he couldn’t live in a world where Kenna wasn’t in it.
He parted ways with his dad at the stairs and headed up to her room. He knocked and waited. “It’s me. Max.” Like she didn’t already know. But he was the last Wilde she’d probably like to see right now.
Her lack of response made his gut tighten with dread. What if his dad had been right and she’d done something desperate. He knocked again. “Open up. Now.” Fear clawed at him.
She opened the door wearing the same Metallica T-shirt, baggy black sweatpants, and snow cone print socks Hunt had delivered to her last night at the hospital.
Hunt should not be in charge of packing a bag for a woman ever again. But it had been thoughtful of him to do, given the situation and Kenna’s clothes ending up as evidence and not being suitable to wear ever again.
She’d pulled her long hair into a messy topknot. Most of it was coming loose. The doctor had done an adequate job of rinsing out the blood from the golden strands.
It dawned on him that she hadn’t showered or changedtoday at all. Because Hunt had only brought her one set of clothes, the dumbass.
She shifted from one foot to the other, waiting. When he didn’t say anything, she said, “Hi,” breaking the ice.
He looked her up and down and back again, still frowning that she’d never looked worse. Or better. It had been a long time since he’d been this close to her.
Except for the long drive home last night when she’d sat as far away from him in the truck cab as she could get and stared blankly out the window, saying absolutely nothing until they got to the ranch. Given her traumatic experience, he’d let her be.
He couldn’t do that now.
For some reason, he looked her up and down again and finally realized what kept hanging up his brain. “Hey, that’s my shirt.”
She’d stolen a lot of his shirts over the years they dated. She loved having a piece of him close. He always thought she looked so damn good in them.
She still did.
Tears filled her eyes. “You want it?” She ripped the shirt off over her head. He got a glimpse of her perfect breasts before she flung it right in his face. “Take it.”
Then she slammed the door and burst into tears behind it.
