Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
River
I knead the loaf with far more vigor than is required.
But abusing my poor sourdough is the only thing that’s made me feel better this last week.
Well that, and learning that Violet is okay.
She went home from the vet yesterday, and Thorn sent Brooks a picture of her back at the penthouse.
Yup.
Thorn sent it to Brooks.
Who sent it to me in some sort of fucked-up version of Telephone.
I sigh, slam my fist into the loaf then cover it with a dishtowel so it will rise.
Hopefully.
There’s a fifty-fifty chance it won’t rise at all, instead transforming into a brick…a brick I can lob at Thorn.
Because once I got over the hurt from that day, I understood.
He’s scared. Of me. Of us. Of life and the Lyons and all the good and bad things that might happen.
And that’s when I got Mad.
Yup. Mad with a capital M.
Because you’re telling me this jerkwad is going to be sweet and gentle, thoughtful and caring and so damned patient for months…and the moment he gets me to trust him, he’s going to freak out and retreat, freak out and push me away?
Oh no.
Fuck that.
The doorbell rings, and I exhale sharply, wiping my hands on the towel, instinctually going to answer it. If anyone has made it this far, they’ve been vetted by Pascal’s crew, so there’s nothing to worry about.
But one of his guys is there before I make it to the entryway, anyway.
He gestures for me to wait and I pause in the hall as he opens the door.
“Hello,” I hear and my gut twists.
Why is Thorn here?
Why do I want to run over, close the distance between us? Why do I want to throw my arms around him and yell at him in equal measure?
“Where’s Brooks?” he asks as he steps inside, pausing to wipe his feet on the mat.
“In his office,” Pascal’s man answers.
And I realize I’m standing there, just waiting for Thorn to see me.
Dumb. So freaking dumb.
I spin on my heel, hurry toward the kitchen—
“River!” he calls.
I don’t stop, just beeline for my loaf of bread and peek under the towel even though it’s nowhere near ready.
“Little hen,” he says from very close behind me. “I—”
“Don’t,” I snap, turning to face him. To glare at him.
His eyes search mine for a long moment. Then he nods and starts to turn away.
I exhale, and even though I should let him leave, some part of me can’t bear it. “Is Violet really okay?”
Along with the photo, he told Brooks they found no sign of poisoning and the vet still thinks it was a freak virus that just hit her really hard.
Which makes me feel both better and worse.
Not my fault.
And yet, I still feel guilty for not noticing she wasn’t feeling well.
A flicker through his eyes I can’t read.
“She’s back to normal. We’re taking it easy and she’s still on some steroids to help boost up her immune system, but she’s herself again.
” Half his mouth curves up and, God, that hurts.
“So much so she conned me out of a half-dozen salmon treats this morning.”
“I’m glad.” I look under the towel again.
The loaf is the exact same size.
Dammit.
“River,” he says softly and my heart pulses.
But he doesn’t go on. And I wait, hoping he’ll talk to me. Explain. Share.
He doesn’t.
And against my better judgment, I push. “Talk to me,” I whisper. “I know you liked what we were building as much as I did. Tell me what happened. What changed. Why…” My words stopper up in my throat.
Because he’s not going to explain.
I can see it in his face.
Disappointment nearly sends me to my knees, but I just check on my bread again, mutter, “Never mind.”
“Little—River,” he corrects.
“Are you going to tell me what’s haunting you?” I ask, my gaze flicking to his, searching his. But even though he doesn’t reply, I know it’s a no. Sighing, I shake my head. “Go talk to Brooks and leave me alone.”
Leave me to heal.
To get over him.
I’ll be okay. I always am.
But it aches to have him near, to have had a sliver of what might be…and the harsh reminder of what won’t be.
The front door opens and closes, and female voices echo through the hall.
God, I can’t have the girls see him here with me, can’t have them think…things that aren’t true, that won’t be.
“Go.”
He lingers for one more second. Then Briar’s voice rings out, “River! Where are you?”
Thankfully, that prompts Thorn into action and he moves through the kitchen, disappearing into the hall just as Briar and Marie come in through the other opening.
“Hey,” I say, tucking the towel back around my unrisen loaf of bread. “What’s up?”
“Look what we saw is coming to town!”
Rory holds out her phone, and I squint at the screen as the Reel starts playing. Immediately, my lungs hitch at the sight of a huge ballroom full of women in ballgowns and men in suits, and there are twinkly lights everywhere, and swathes of fabric draped, and...
I sigh softly. “That’s beautiful.”
“It’s a fantasy ball,” Rory says excitedly. “It’s themed around…” She names the book series I’ve been obsessed with. “Please tell me that you’re down to get a fancy dress and go to it with us. We’ll find our very own sexy fae male—”
“You’re married,” Briar points out.
“Pish,” Rory says with a mischievous smile. “Plus, I bet I can get King to be my sexy fae male for a night.”
“Maybe,” Briar says. “But I’m not so sure Brooks will agree to do the same.”
“Of course he will,” she says. “He loves you.”
My heart pulses as I pass the phone back. “I’m not sure the timing is right. Your wedding is next week,” I tell Briar, “and then you’re going on their honeymoon.”
“We’ll be back in town in time for it,” Briar says. “Until things calm down we decided to stay nearby for our honeymoon. Though”—she leans in, drops her voice—“Brooks says they’re getting close to something big so that may not be too much longer now.”
“Because of the stuff Angela gave you?” Rory asks.
She nods. “And Thorn”—a look slanted in my direction that tells me she sees far too much—“used his connections to dig up more dirt. Brooks says that things should be a lot better by our wedding day.”
“Good,” I murmur.
“Speaking of Thorn…” she says gently.
I turn back to my bread. Nope. Still not rising.
“I don’t want to talk about Thorn,” I mutter.
I expect them to push. All I’ve told them is that it didn’t work out, and I know they’re confused—one second we were together (or at least figuring out what together looks like), and the next…
I was showing up in an Uber on their porch with my suitcase in one hand and my KitchenAid tucked under my opposite arm.
A soft sigh. “He’ll come to his senses.”
“Ask me if I care,” I mutter.
I don’t care. Nope. I don’t. I don’t give a fig that he’s obviously carrying some heavy burdens, don’t care that he’s clearly scared and that’s what’s holding him back. I don’t even care that I shared and he doesn’t trust me to do the same (much, anyway).
I just want to move on.
Want to figure out what my life looks like in this next chapter.
And above all else, I want the Lyons to be taken down so I can go home, can go back to my small, quiet, peaceful life.
So, Thorn Wilkenson and his soft smiles and gorgeous green eyes and his gentle touches and his attention to detail can just…
Go suck an egg.