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Alex lifts one shoulder as if tempering her next words. “I worry about you. You’re twenty-eight and skipped right over the sowing wild oats part of life. You’ve never even dated.”

“Not true. There was that one guy. We went out.”

“Having lunch with your occupational therapist isn’t dating. What about love?”

“Not interested.”

She doesn’t ask why. Because this isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. And neither of us wants this to escalate. That week of not talking was pure torture.

“Fine,” she says, leaning in. “What about sex? Hookups?”

“Not interested.”

“If you’re asexual, I respect that. If you’re just scared—that’s no way to live your life.”

I start to rub my chest and drop my hand. I’m not afraid of the physical part. But I take care of my needs just fine…and no one has to see the ugly white lines running down the center of my chest.

She raises a brow in question, and I cave.

“It’s not that simple, Alex. I’m almost thirty and still a…you know. And guys get freaked out by my scars. I don’t want to deal with it.”

“Who are these guys?” When I don’t answer, she shakes her head like I’m an idiot. “The guys from the locker room don’t count. That was high school.”

My face heats. The stares. The cruel words. “Maybe we can do something tomorrow after work.” I have to offer something. Just so we can end this conversation. Future Canyon will hate it, but whatever. I can deal with that tomorrow.

She leaves after that, mollified but not happy. Story of my life.

Taffy jumps in my lap and kneads it to her liking before making herself at home. Her purring soothes my frayed nerves as I run my fingers through her soft fur. It’s comforting after the stressful morning.

So much so that I doze off.

Until the banging jerks me awake.

The rest of the house is quiet, and I blink away my tiredness, still bordering on exhaustion. Did River leave for work? The pounding starts again, and I jump to my feet to answer the door, receiving an unimpressed meow from Taffy.

It has to be Alex. But she’s wasted a trip. I’m done talking about this. I rush to the door and pull it open. “Fuck off?—”

It’s not my best friend.

My heart pounds scarily hard as I stare at the man filling my doorway. He’s big. But that might be more attitude than physicality. The arrogant set of his shoulders. The sneer on his face. Gray eyes hard as granite. “Who are you?”

I’m so shocked by his question that I can’t speak for a second. “You’re at my door. Who are you?”

He ignores my question and pushes past me into the house. “Where’s River?”

“I… What?”

Striding through the living room, he checks the kitchen before returning with a scowl on his face.

“It’s not a difficult question.” He folds his arms across an impressive chest, his muscles highlighted by an expensive-looking tight shirt.

His eyes rake over me…and dismiss me just as fast. “Tell your boyfriend to get his ass out here.”

“Hold on. What are you talking about?”

He sighs. “What part of this is confusing for you, princess?”

“The part where you think being an asshole gets you whatever you want.”

His mouth opens and shuts. He looks me over again. Like he’s reassessing. “It does, actually.”

And then it clicks. “You’re Wade Darian. River’s boss.”

His lips thin into a disapproving line. “Now that we’ve got that settled, could you get him?”

My scalp prickles as I glance at the clock on the mantel. It’s after nine. “He—he went to work.” I didn’t hear him leave, but he must have.

“Obviously, that’s not true.” His words are barely controlled. “You’re trying my patience.”

All this time, I’ve thought my brother was exaggerating. Everyone complains about their boss, right? But Wade Darian is an asshole. His huff of annoyance brings my gaze to his face. His eyes flash with irritation. Frustration. And something else. Something closer to…fear? That can’t be right.

But it’s a bit freeing for some reason.

“Sorry about that.” I’m not, but it has the intended effect.

“Get. Him. Now.”

I quirk an eyebrow. And for a second, I think he’s going to do it. Give me the word I’m silently asking for. But I should’ve known “please” isn’t in his vocabulary.

He growls, and…damn, that’s sexy. Objectively speaking. I’m not attracted to him. “Very well,” he says, spitting out the words. “I’ll get him myself.”

He storms through the house, opening doors. The closet—seriously?—the bathroom, the stairs to the basement.

I jump in front of him, and he barely stops himself from barreling into me. The result is he’s standing a little too close. His expensive cologne tries to draw me in. But I’m somehow able to resist burying my nose in his neck and inhaling. I gaze up and up into his stormy eyes.

“I owe River an apology,” I say a little breathlessly, not clearing up the boyfriend thing. It’s none of his business. I clear my throat. “He was right. You are a dick.”

He sucks in a breath. And then he seems to get bigger. “Is that what he said?”

Shit. What am I doing? “Um, it was implied.” I mentally kick myself. River needs this job. Stepping back for self-preservation, I gesture toward the kitchen table. “Have a seat, Mr. Darian, while I get him. There’s coffee if you want it.” It’s definitely cold by now. “I’ll be right back.”

I don’t wait for an answer. When I reach River’s door, I put my ear against it and listen. Nothing. If he went back to sleep, I’m going to kick his butt. Seriously.

Bracing myself, I knock. No answer. “I’m coming in, River,” I announce as I open the door and duck to avoid any flying objects.

But there are no baseballs or golf balls or balls of any type zipping through the air.

There’s also no River.

A pit opens up in my stomach as I check his closet.

His suitcases are missing. I check his nightstand.

His phone charger is gone and so is the picture of the four of us.

Mom, Dad, River, and me. We were on a float trip at Merrimac Caverns.

All smiling—because we didn’t know what the future had in store.

He really is gone.

I can’t focus on that without curling up in a ball of pain, so instead, I concentrate on my breathing. And the note.

Can,

Please don’t hate me. I needed to get away. To breathe. And there are things going on. Things I can’t talk about. Don’t bother calling. I’m turning off my phone. I’ll be in touch. Don’t worry so much.

Love you, bro.

River

My hand shakes and it takes me a while to get through it. And then I read it again. Ignoring his request, I call him.

He can’t do this.

Maybe it’s a prank. It wouldn’t be out of character. But his phone goes right to voicemail. “River. Call me. Please.”

I fold the note and stick it in my pocket. Now, what about the angry guy in my kitchen? He’s not going to like this.

I square my shoulders. I’ve handled harder things. Going through open-heart surgery at nine. Then, at seventeen, explaining that Mom and Dad weren’t ever coming home to my fifteen-year-old brother. Both of those were harder than this.

I walk briskly back into the kitchen, opening my mouth to deliver the bad news.

But it snaps shut at the scene before me.

Wade Darian is sitting at my kitchen table, his body eclipsing the chair he’s in.

My eyes fall to his lap. Taffy is there, purring.

She tilts her head back and gazes at him with adoration.

He chuckles, scratching under her chin, and my breath catches at his gentleness. “Who’s a good kitty?”

Oh God. I freeze, my body sending conflicting signals. Is it the sweetness on his face? The low rumble of his voice? Or the praise that has my body betraying me?

Dashing around the table to hide my predicament, I grab the back of the chair to steady myself.

His head jerks up and over and the open expression on his face snaps shut. I miss it. Which is weird. What difference does it make? I will never see this man again in my life.

He kisses the top of Taffy’s head and gently scoots my traitorous cat off his lap. When his eyes settle on me, they are no longer gentle. “Well? Where is he?”

I don’t shy away from his hard gaze as I try to calm my breathing. “Gone.”

He’s on his feet in seconds, the vein in his neck pulsing as he leans over the table. “Gone? When will he be back?”

I cling to the chair to keep from retreating and swallow the anxiety clogging my throat. “I’m not sure he’s coming back.”