Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“I took the afternoon off,” Wren said, disappearing into the kitchen. “Posie had an infected tooth. Poor thing just got back from the vet and she’s still loopy from the anesthesia. She’ll probably ignore us, which is fine because she’s terrible company anyway,” she joked.
I heard the clink of glasses, the glug of liquid being poured. A moment later, Wren pressed a generous glass of red wine into my hands and settled beside me on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her.
“Okay,” she said, her voice gentling. “Tell me everything.”
So, I did. The words poured out of me in a rush—the phone call from Hazel, finding Miles disoriented and sick, the frantic drive to the hospital and the hours spent waiting for news. My shattered phone, useless in my purse. The dawning horror when I’d looked at the clock and realized how late it was. And then Simon.
I replayed every moment of that confrontation, each word etched into my memory with painful clarity. The coldness in his voice. The accusations. The way he’d looked at me like I was a stranger—or worse, an enemy.
When I finally finished, my voice hoarse and my wine glass empty, Wren sat in charged silence for a long moment. Her jaw was tight, her eyes flashing with barely contained fury.
“How dare he.” The words came out low and dangerous. “How dare he accuse you of working with that slimeball Chuck? Does he know you at all?”
My chin wobbled, threatening to crack the fragile composure I’d been clinging to. I’d already cried twice today—in the car after leaving the parking lot at Alexander’s office, and again on the drive here—and I wasn’t sure I had any tears left.
“I thought he did,” I whispered. “I thought we had something real, Wren. Something that could survive a bad day like this. But the first time things went wrong, he just…” I shook my head, unable to find the right words. “He didn’t even let me explain. Didn’t ask if I was okay. He just assumed the worst and attacked.”
“Because he’s an idiot,” Wren said flatly. “A wounded idiot with trust issues, apparently, but still an idiot.”
“I know about his past.” I traced the rim of my empty glass with my finger. “His old business partner… he’s been burned before. I think when I didn’t show up, all those old fears just took over. He was projecting all of that onto me.”
Wren’s expression didn’t soften. “Understanding why someone hurt you doesn’t mean you have to accept it.”
“I know.” My voice was small. “That’s why I quit.”
“Good.” She nodded firmly. “You deserve better than someone who throws accusations at you instead of asking questions. No matter how good-looking he is or how much money he has.”
Despite everything, a weak laugh escaped me. “He is annoyingly good-looking.”
“The worst ones always are.” Wren stood abruptly, her expression shifting to something determined. “That’s it. I’m getting The Slugger.”
I lifted my head, confused. “The what?”
“The Slugger. The baseball bat I keep by my bed in case someone breaks in. She’s coming with us.”
“You keep a baseball bat by your bed?” I blinked at her. “And it’s a she?”
“Yes and yes. I’m a single woman living alone—I need protection.” A wicked gleam entered her eyes. “Also, The Slugger would be perfect for giving Simon’s car a little creative bodywork.”
That startled an actual laugh out of me. “You’re kidding.”
Wren crossed her arms, one eyebrow arched. “Am I?”
“You’re a lawyer. You can’t do something like that.”
“I’m a pissed-off best friend, and I’m about ninety percent sure I could figure out how to get away with it. Prosecutorial discretion, creative alibi, the works.”
I didn’t ask how she’d worked that out, mostly because I genuinely wasn’t sure if she was joking. “How about you just hang out with me instead? No felonies required.”
Wren sighed dramatically. “Fine. We’ll watch a horror movie and eat junk food.”
“Why a horror movie?”
“Because it’s the opposite of a romcom, obviously.” She grabbed her remote and started scrolling through streaming services. “No meet-cutes, no grand gestures, no emotionally unavailable billionaires learning the meaning of love. Just blood, screaming, and people making terrible decisions that have nothing to do with relationships.”
I couldn’t argue with that logic.
While Wren hunted for the perfect slasher film, I borrowed her phone to call Hazel. I needed to check on Miles and remind myself why I’d made the choices I had today, even if those choices had cost me everything else.
“He’s still sleeping,” Hazel said, her voice filled with relief. “The doctors say that’s good—he needs rest. They think it might take a couple of weeks for all the concussion effects to fully resolve. I already talked to the Lynx coach, and Miles can’t get back on the ice until a doctor clears him.”
That was going to drive my brother absolutely crazy. Hockey was his life.