Fidgeting nervously, I tug at the bottom of my shirt when I see Whit staring at me in confusion. That’s when he walks up and wraps his arm around Whit’s waist, still glaring into my eyes like he’s trying to silence me.
“You okay, Mika?” Whit asks.
Still in an eye-lock, I shudder, feeling stupid, embarrassed,
and very freaking pissed off. He doesn’t live here. Why the hell is he standing in here right now with his arm wrapped around the model?
My heart does the whole slapping me in the face thing, reminding me it’s sick of being played with, so I manage to look away. Tugging at my shirt again, I look over at Whit.
“Sorry. He… just reminded me of someone I used to know. It surprised me. That’s all.”
Feeling his eyes burning against my face, I kneel down to start putting the larger broken shards on the forgotten tray, ignoring the fact the pieces aren’t broken in the same sizes. I resist the urge to spend forever grinding them into such small fragments you wouldn’t be able to tell they’re not the same size. The urge gets stronger, but I manage to ignore it, since it’s not overwhelming.
“Let me help,” Whit offers.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly—too quickly. “You should probably start checking the music lineup and such.”
I don’t look up. I can’t. This is hell. Actually, this is a level somewhere beneath hell. How did this even happen?
“Want to help me grab that last statue right quick? The doors are opening in less than an hour.”
Bill’s voice is like a hammer to my ears, because all my senses are hyper-alert right now. My heart is slamming against my ribs, because it’s exploding over and over instead of beating. I want to run away, hide, scream, cry… I want to do it all at once, but I’m stuck on the ground, picking up pieces of broken glass that poetically remind me of the pieces of my heart I was once left with because of the same man.
My eyes lift ever so slightly to see him glaring down at me still, and I cut my gaze away.
“Babe, are you okay?” Whit asks him.
I don’t bother looking up. I concentrate on the mess I made thanks to the jerk in the room. A surprising cry of pain escapes my lips before I realize it, and I curse when I see blood pouring from my finger. Damn it.
“Shit! Mika, let me help. Chase, get some towels. Hurry.”
There’s too much blood to put my finger in my mouth unless I sprout fangs and turn into a vampire so I can enjoy it. It’s a small cut, but I’m bleeding like an alcoholic on blood thinners. Shit. My blood pressure must be ridiculous right now.
“Chase! What the hell? Why are you just staring? Get some towels.”
My eyes come up just as he rips his gaze away from me, and he stalks out the entrance, pushing through the doors so hard the glass on them rattles on impact.
“What the fuck, Chase?!” Whit calls after him.
But he doesn’t slow down. He gets in his truck, slams the door, and the beast of an engine roars as he slams it in reverse and cuts it back, speeding off like hell is on his heels.
“What the hell just happened?” Whit asks me.
“Guess he doesn’t like blood,” I mumble.
My eyes land on the lonely eagle by the entrance, and I swear it’s a bittersweet symbolic statement. This isn’t how my new life was supposed to go. It was supposed to read the end.
Chapter 6
CHASE
I’m drinking a beer when Whit walks in and slams the door.
“Where the hell have you been?” she barks.
I ignore her while staring at the TV, still drinking.
“Damn it, Chase, what the hell is going on? Two days ago you acted like you saw a ghost, then you ran off. Now you’re just sitting here after not calling me or coming home for two days?”