“Tati!” Mary shouts as she expertly unlocks and opens the door.
When the fuck did she learn to do that? I thought she was safe at home, and now I find out she can open the door to any fucking stranger.
And then there she is, that persistent, fearless woman-child, standing right outside the door, all big blue eyes and prim dress barely showing under her long, light coat that’s buttoned up to her chin, dark hair chastely pulled back.
Looking at me.
Normally I control my reactions, my temper, my lust.
My reflex attraction to her.
But not after the night I just had. A bad night. Bad nights, stretching back into time. Three years without real sleep.
My control is slipping.
And I can’t let it show. “You’re early,” I snap.
“By ten minutes,” Octavia counters easily.
“And you’re wearing a fucking dress.”
“Language,” she replies, slender jaw tight.
Goddammmit.
I put Cole down and push hair out of my eyes. “Mary, take your brother and go to the kitchen.”
“We want breakfast!” she whines, and the headache throbbing behind my eyes spikes.
“In a minute. Now off you go.”
“Want me to make them breakfast?” Octavia asks.
“No.”
“I could just—”
I smash my fist into the door, breathing hard, and I feel nothing.
Nothing at all.
She has jerked back, away from me, her face white. “What,” she says, her voice not quite steady, “is the matter with you?”
That’s a damn good question.
Pain finally seeps through the numbness, traveling from my busted knuckles up my arm, settling in my shoulders and neck.
Ow. Shit.
With it, some of the haze clears, and the cold fear in her gaze cuts through the rest like a knife.
Hell. Turning my back to her, I stalk over to the sofa and sink down, putting my head in my hands. It’s so fucking heavy. And I can’t think.
My mind’s fucked up.
I hear her light steps, the click of her heels. The door clicks shut. She approaches me and I lift my head, not sure what to say. I should say I’m sorry, but the words stick in my throat.
My breath stops.