Page 122 of Almost Rotten

As I drag the turner through the eggs, dread creeps in. I’ve avoided my self-proclaimed “husband” for thirty-six hours, but I’ll have to face him today. I don’t know what I’ll say to him or how the hell to break him out of these delusions he’s so convinced are harmless.

But I’ve made promises now.

To Mercer. To Noah. To myself.

I have to distance myself from Ty once and for all.

The eggs are nearly done and I’ve got bread in the toaster when a deep groan echoes down the hall. Low voices filter in next, one more urgent than the other, followed by the sound of footsteps.

They enter the kitchen together, Noah first, and Mercer right on his heels.

“Hi, honey,” Noah murmurs, his voice low and gravelly from sleep. He kisses my cheek, lingering in my space for a breath, then places another kiss on the crown of my head. “You’re okay?”

With a smile and a nod, I loop an arm around his waist. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

He brushes his hand along my low back. “Smells great. I’ll set the table.”

Mercer sidles up next. Tension seeps out of him when his gaze clashes with mine. He doesn’t give voice to his concerns—but I assume he woke up and suspected I left. I’m desperate to show him that I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. He’s exactly where I want to be.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” He hugs me from behind, mirroring the way I snuggled up to him last night when he was the one at the stove.

“Don’t get used to it,” I quip.

He scoffs as if I’ve insulted him. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Little Nuisance. With the way that big, beautiful brain of yours works, I expect the trajectory of your career will be nothing short of remarkable. If anything, I’ll be the one who has to stay home and cook while Noah tends to the orchard and you’re out running the world.” With a smack on the ass, he heads to the coffeepot.

I grin. I may not know what I’m going to do about Tytus, but with these men at my back, I don’t have to figure any of it out on my own.

Chapter fifty-two

Tytus

With anumph, I slam into the Kid, sandwiching him between my body and the Plexiglas.

“What the hell, Tremblay?” he squawks.

What does he mean,what the hell? He was in my fucking way.

“Tremblay!” Coach hollers from the bench. “Get your shitty attitude in check or get off my fucking ice.”

Breaths sawing in and out of my lungs, I circle back to center ice and set up to run the drill again.

Atty appears at my side. “What’s going on, man?” he asks, panting. “You good?”

I’m not good. I can’t fucking focus.

She left. Her phone’s off. And she’s been gone for more than twenty-four hours.

“Ty.” My best friend bends low, getting in position, but he brings his head close to mine. “Get it together or take yourself off the ice.”

I bark out a humorless laugh.

Get off the ice? And go where?

I didn’t sleep last night. I lay awake in Sawyer’s empty dorm for hours, willing her to come back and put me out of my goddamn misery.

Morning skate is the only thing keeping me in check. If I take myself off the ice, I’m liable to track her down and bring her back, whether she wants to come or not.

I think I know where she is.