Then that little fox had walked into his life and brought a sense of fun, of excitement.
Oh, yeah, then she walked right out again, leaving him there, finally realizing what he wanted and knowing he couldn’t get it.
It had been a week, and she hadn’t reached out. A week of silence, of him pathetically checking his phone every hour, of forcing himself to give her space.
But, after a week, his hopes had dropped to zero. The more time she had to think, the more she’d dig her heels in.
“You want to glare some more at the food?” Annoyance filled Trent’s voice.
They’d been at each other’s throats, each day worse than the one before. It seemed Sunny leaving had shown cracks they’d ignored before.
“I’m tired of takeout.”
“Well, you’re welcome to learn to cook,” Trent answered.
“Knock it off, you two.” Connor took a bite of the food, his gaze down. He treated them like children who were bickering.
Which…they sort of were.
“How could she not call?” Trent asked, finally addressing the topic they hadn’t dared to broach.
“She still might,” Connor said.
That was a load of shit. “The more time that passes, the less likely that is. She likes to think, and the more she gets wrapped up in her head, the better the chance that she talks herself right out of it.”
Trent pushed his plate away and sat back. “What if we call? Or just…show up somewhere? If we could talk to her, she’d realize she’s making a mistake…”
Garrison wanted so badly to do just that. It would be easy to go see her, to remind her of what they had between them, because there was something there.
But that wasn’t possible, no matter how much he wished it was. “We can’t do that. Sunny dealt with one asshole who called himself a Dom, who didn’t listen to her, who didn’t let her make her own choices, didn’t respect her. If we did that, how would we be any better than him?”
Trent blew out a hard breath. He might not like the answer, but he clearly couldn’t argue with it either.
Sunny deserved the ability to make her own choices, even if Garrison were sure she was making a mistake.
A cell rang, the high tone telling them it was Connor’s. He rose from the table and went back toward his room, where he’d left it.
Trent pushed his plate away. “I hate this.”
“Me too,” Garrison said. “Trust me, you’re not the only one disappointed.”
“I just keep wondering if there was something else we could have done, some way we could have made her realize she belongs with us.”
“Maybe. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be, maybe we were supposed to just help her realize she might like this, that she’s okay, that she deserves better and can have it.”
“And you’re okay with that? With us being nothing but a lesson to her?” Trent asked.
“I’m not happy about it, no, but sometimes there’s nothing we can do about it. Sometimes life sucks and we just have to deal with it.”
Connor’s heavy steps came quickly down the hallway, drawing Garrison’s attention. He’d known the man long enough to tell his moods from a room away, and nothing but an emergency got Connor moving likethat.
Connor rushed in, then held the phone out, pressing the speaker button. “I’m with Trent and Garrison now—go on.”
The voice on the line was one Garrison recognized—Mitch, the private detective working in Utah, the one who had tracked down Tanner. “I think we have a problem.”
Words I’m not fond of hearing.
“What sort of problem?” Trent asked. “Is Tanner gone?”