“She kept things from me. Lied to me. I have a problem with lies.”
James gave him a knowing look. “I didn’t lie to you.”
“Didn’t you?” Sloan snarled.
The other man sighed and looked at him tiredly. “Do you really want to do this here? With Kinley lying in there?” Sloan just stared at him.
James pulled out a card. “Here’s my private number. Call me when you want to talk. About the past. About Kinley.”
“She’s mine.” He didn’t care how much of a caveman it made him sound; he was staking his claim.
James nodded. “I got that. Just make sure you take care of her.”
He didn’t say, “this time,” but Sloan heard the words nonetheless and the guilt tightened his stomach. James strode off without another word, and Sloan entered Kinley’s apartment. He looked around with a sigh and started cleaning up the flowers that lay strewn about. It would never have occurred to James, to pick them up, he thought sourly. He took a deep breath and pushed that thought aside. Nothing good was going to come from being bitter. If these last few weeks had taught him anything, it was letting the past get in the way of your future would only lead to problems. And loneliness.
He dumped the flowers in the garbage and saw a white card on the kitchen bench.
Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady.
He snorted. James was off his game it seemed. He put the notecard in the garbage too. Later, he’d go out and get her some flowers to replace these ones. For the moment, he’d see what he could do to stop that faucet from dripping.
14
Kinley woke up feeling groggy, and her mouth was dry. She rolled over and lay there. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten in a while. Great, that meant she was going to have to get up when all she wanted to do was lie there and wallow in misery.
“Hungry?”
She screeched, sitting up. She stared up into Sloan’s face, her heart racing, her mind scrambling to make sense of his presence in her apartment.
James bringing her home. Sloan showing up. Fighting. Flowers. A blinding pain.
“Sorry, darlin’, didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you knew I was here.”
She might have remembered if she didn’t still felt groggy from the migraine. She cleared her throat and tried to slow her rapid heartbeat. “You stayed.”
“You didn’t really think I’d leave you here alone, did you?”
“Truthfully, I’m not really certain what I expected.”
Instead of getting angry, he just nodded looking tired. “Can I sit?” He pointed at her bed.
“Yes.”
He sat with a grimace. “This bed has to be as hard as the floor.”
“I’ve thought about sleeping on the floor a time or two to compare,” she joked.
He ran his hand over his face. “I’m an asshole.”
Her eyes widened. “No, you’re not.”
He gave a small laugh. “Seriously? You’re defending me after all I’ve done?”
“I hurt you. Kept stuff from you.”
“And instead of sticking around and talking it out, I retreated and ran away. Part of me saw an out, and I took it.”
“You wanted an out?” Hurt clogged her throat, and she had to blink rapidly. She would not cry. She would not cry. “You could have just told me.”