Page 47 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

STORMY

B y the time we’re back in the penthouse, the adrenaline is wearing off. The door clicks shut behind us, and the silence settles over everything.

I kick off my heels without thinking. They land beside the front door in a way that feels final, like they’ve walked their last boardroom hallway. My feet sink into the cool hardwood. I walk to the kitchen and pour two glasses of wine. I hand him one, and then we plop down on the couch.

“Thanks,” he says. “Are we celebrating at ten in the morning?”

I nod. “Yep! Two down. One to go.”

He takes a sip, and I drink half mine in one go. “She’ll be here. I need to decide what I’m going to say to her and change clothes,” I say, already moving toward the bedroom. “Order us something to eat. Delivery. Make sure it’s greasy. I’ve missed being a trash panda while in Valentine.”

“Greasy coming right up,” he says with a laugh.

I peel off the suit the second I’m behind the door, hanging it neatly on the back of the chair before slipping into a soft pair of leggings and one of his T-shirts.

It still smells like cedar, cotton, and home.

I move into the bathroom and pull my hair into a messy knot, wanting it off the back of my neck.

When I return to the living room, Colt’s on the couch, one leg stretched out, his phone in hand. Bare feet are propped on the edge of the coffee table like he’s a part of the furniture.

“Food’s on the way,” he says. “Lo mein with a double order of egg rolls.”

I cross the room and drop onto the couch beside him, curling one leg under me. “You figured right.”

His eyes sweep over my face. “You okay?” he asks.

“I think I am.”

The smell hits before the knock. Colt jumps up, barefoot, looking like sex appeal on legs, and answers the door.

Seconds later, he’s returning with the bag of Chinese food like it’s sacred.

We don’t bother plating it. He opens the containers one by one, and steam rises, filling the air with garlic, ginger, and heaven.

“Egg rolls,” he announces, holding one up like a trophy.

I grab it from his hand before he can finish the sentence. “Gimme.”

It’s hot, and I toss it between my fingers, blowing on it.

He laughs and sits beside me, opening a carton of lo mein. “You sure you don’t want a plate?”

“This is the plate,” I say, holding out my hand, already grabbing a second egg roll.

I lean back on the cushion, watching him. It’s weird, how he fits here like this place is adjusting around him. Or maybe it’s me who can’t imagine him not in my life, wherever that is.

For a while, we eat without saying much. There’s music playing softly in the background—some chill acoustic playlist Colt must’ve cued up. Sunlight from the late morning sun glows against the surrounding glass windows in the distance and reflects gold.

“You know,” he says, wiping his hands on a napkin, “you should keep this place, and we’ll come visit when you miss the city.”

“You think I’ll miss it?”

He nods. “Eventually. With time, people tend to grow nostalgic. I know you’re still very pissed, which is understandable. But you won’t always be so hurt, and maybe one day, you can return here with a smile.”

“How do you always know the right thing to say?”

“Mama only raised emotionally intelligent men.” He pauses and smirks. “Never mind. Forgot about Emmett.”

We fall into a fit of laughter, and I reach for an eggroll, but he beats me to it. Colt dips it in soy sauce and offers it to me with a kind grin.

“You’re sexy when you feed me,” I mutter, taking a bite.

Colt wags his brows. “I’ve got something to feed you.”

“You are so bad,” I tell him with a laugh, noticing how free and happy I am.

We finish eating, and Colt cleans up our mess, then returns to me.

“You’re really good at this,” I tell him, scooting closer, inhaling him.

“At what?” he asks, wrapping his arm around me.

“Making me happy.”

Before he can say anything, there’s a knock at the door.

Three soft raps. Not urgent. Not hesitant. There.

I tilt my head at him. “Told you so.”

“Do you want me to get it?” he asks, shifting so he can stand.

“No.” I shake my head. “It’s her. I know it is.”

I walk to the door. The hardwood is cold on my bare feet. I stop with my hand on the handle and open it.

As I predicted, it’s Skye. She’s standing there with perfect posture in a designer dress without a hair out of place. Her lipstick is the same shade she wore on my wedding day. I wonder if she suggested that color, so when Donovan kissed me after saying I do , he would think of her.

For a second, we stare at each other. My pulse quickens, and then I notice the shift in her expression. It’s relief, hesitation, guilt, and anger twisted behind her perfectly smooth face.

She opens her mouth like she might speak, but I don’t let her control the conversation.

“I should slam the door in your face.”

Skye flinches, but she doesn’t step back. She stands there with her hands folded neatly in front of her, like she’s here to apologize for being five minutes late to brunch, not for helping detonate my entire life.

“I needed to see you,” she says.

“You don’t get to want things from me anymore.”

She saw my kindness as weakness, and I will no longer tolerate her disrespect.

Her mouth opens, closes, and I’ve never seen her stunned and silent. For a woman who’s always had a performance ready, she’s finally out of rehearsed lines.

“Can I at least come in?” she asks.

I want Colt to see the person who betrayed me, so I happily stand aside, ready to bring this conversation to a place where there is a witness so she can’t twist my words or hers. She walks in like she has a thousand times before. Her heels click softly against the floor.

His brows pinch together, but he doesn’t say anything.

Skye turns to face me, hands clenched now, her knuckles white. “Who is he?”

The question lands like a scratch in the middle of a record.

“He’s mine,” I state. “Not taking that one from me too.”

She glances toward Colt, and he watches me like she doesn’t matter.

“So, that’s it? He made you like this?” There’s an accusatory tone in her voice.

“No,” I say. “You can thank yourself for that.”

She blinks at me, like she wants to protest, but nothing comes out.

I stare at her. “How long were you sleeping with Donovan?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.

The heat rises in my chest again because she still doesn’t get it.

“Now you’re going to deflect?” I ask, my voice colder now. “I saw you two together. You have no idea what that did to me. Not because I lost Donovan, but because I lost you.”

Skye staggers back a half step, and her face crumples, but I don’t soften. I can’t. Not now.

“I could never have imagined you would do something to me like that. I trusted you, Skye.”

Tears slide down her cheeks now, but I don’t care.

“I would’ve burned the world down for you,” I say, quieter now, but no less fierce.

“I protected you from everything—our parents, the press, your own messes. And when I needed you most, you were stabbing me in the back. Had I not found you two, I’d have gone through with that and then been a third wheel in my marriage. That’s not okay.”

“I didn’t know how to stop it,” she confesses.

“No, you just didn’t want to. You’ve always been selfish.”

She glances down at the floor like it might give her a place to disappear. “I can’t change what happened,” she says.

“I agree.”

The truth hangs in the air.

She wipes away her tears. “Dad fired me—because of you.”

I shake my head. “When you’re ready to grow up and take responsibility and apologize, call me. Until then, I cannot do this. You and Donovan were made for one another.”

I put my hand on her shoulder, leading her to the door.

She opens her mouth, as if she’s ready to apologize.

“Save it,” I say.

She swallows hard. “I’m pregnant.”

I blink at her. The room tilts a little, like the floor beneath me isn’t quite solid.

Pregnant.

The word echoes in my head, but I barely comprehend it. Donovan didn’t want to have kids with me and was very clear about it. It was something I accepted and made peace with.

She’s blindsided me.

I stop walking and cross my arms. The ache behind my ribs pounds.

“You knew he didn’t want kids,” I say quietly. “You trapped him. Wow . Determined.”

Her throat works around something she doesn’t know how to say.

I hold her gaze for a long time. “I don’t know you.”

“I’m so sorry.” A tear slides down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away. “Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

“You’ve got bigger issues to concern yourself with.” I walk to the door and open it slowly. “I hope you got what you wanted.”

She walks away, and I shut the door, leaning my forehead against it.

My heart feels like it’s beating in a different rhythm now.

Colt appears beside me, his hand at the small of my back. “You okay?”

“No,” I say, turning to him. “But I will be.”

I let myself cry—not for my sister, not for Donovan, not for my career, but for the version of myself that stayed quiet for too long. She’s gone now.

Instead of this being the end of something, it feels more like the beginning of my new life.