Page 66 of Lana Pecherczyk

“So then it’s even worse that you forced me to stay put.” Her heart raced at the memory. “I could have been stabbed, or dragged off, or worse.”

River gripped her shoulders and dipped to look into her eyes. “I would never let any harm come to you. Ever.”

“You can’t control everything.”

“Blake. Hear me when I say this: I will tear apart the world to find you. I would tear apart my own flesh before I let yours come to harm. Understood?”

“Why would you say that? You don’t know me.” Hell, she didn’t even know herself anymore.

“I don’t need to.”

“Maybe you should know me before you say things like that.” The memory of Jeff’s betrayal sliced. She swallowed hard and tried to step back, but River’s grip held firm. Unless she droppedthe plant, she remained trapped. “People change their minds all the time.”

He frowned, fingers flexing on her shoulders as he searched for words. Finally, he asked, “Who changed their mind about you?”

She weighed her options in the silence. Tell, or don’t tell? River kept his own secrets, after all. But something in his gaze tugged at that place deep inside her soul, the one she pretended didn’t exist, the one she filled with shiny things and memories of off-tune opera singing and burned spaghetti. The place that hurt so much, she wanted to?—

You can’t upcycle yourself, babe.

“Jeff,” she blurted, emotion clogging her throat. “Me husband.” She blinked rapidly. “I mean,myhusband. Ex-husband, I guess. He dumped me.”

The confession shocked her, but an invisible thread between them kept pulling the words out. It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t forced. It was right.

Everything poured out: how Jeff had fallen out of love with her after deciding she was ordinary beneath the makeup, how he’d resented her success when his career faltered, how he’d forgotten every important milestone to her and then excused his mistakes by blaming it on his lack of a perfect memory like her. She told River about the jetty—the wrong address, the casual cruelty, being abandoned as their world crumbled.

“The fucking cunt left me after fifteen years of marriage.”

She trembled now, clutching the vase until her knuckles whitened and the tiny leaves shook. Great, heaving breaths tore from her throat like some kind of feral creature. Her rage refused to be contained. It burst free, wild and unstoppable, and God help River if he told her to calm down or stop crying. Or that her tears were making him miserable.

But he didn’t.

He stared at her in bewilderment. Mouth agape. Closing. Opening again. Finally, he said, “He left … you.”

She hugged the plant closer. “Yes.”

“You.”

“Yes, me!”

“I just…” He scrubbed his hand down his face, shaking his head. “You?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

She squeezed her eyes shut against his disbelief. Every muscle tensed in her body, trying to swallow that familiar rage. Better to hide it again. Easier to pretend it never existed. Some things are just … common.

“Two feet and a heartbeat,” she whispered to herself, squeezing the burn from her eyes.

Warm, calloused hands cupped her face. “Look at me, Blake.”

She shook her head.

“Fucking open your eyes. I have something to say, and I want you to—Fuck it. Here.”

His emotions slammed into her through their bond: rage, determination, and beneath it all, something wild and precious. Something uplifting and so good that it was almost too much. Gasping, she opened her eyes and fell into two deep blue pools. River surrounded her with comforting warmth. His presence flooded her body, mind, and soul.

“I’m glad he left you,” he growled through gritted teeth. Her bottom lip trembled, but he snarled, “Listen to our bond, Blake. Listen to what I’m telling you. I’m glad he left you because?—”

He clammed up.