Page 5 of Pour Decisions (Stryker Family #3)

Questions that I want to ask fill my head as we finish the rest of the session—how did she end up back here?

Did she finish her degree in dance over at Crescent Hill?

How were things with her mom? Their relationship wasn’t great, and I doubt I helped by doing what I did to her mom’s husband. Or maybe ex by now.

And my biggest question: who the fuck is this husband of hers?

Given how things are between us, I doubt she’ll tell me. And I don’t really deserve answers after how much I fucked up.

“Awesome work today,” she says once we’re finished, handing me a packet. She’s recovered her professional mask. “Here’s your homework.”

“Homework?” I take the packet from her, raising an eyebrow. Some exercises that we’ve already done are printed out, with extra instructions.

“Just some exercises to do in between sessions.” She sizes me up. “So I can see progress. It would be a shame if you had to extend your physical therapy sessions.”

“Sounds like a threat.”

“Depends on how you think about it.” She gives me a grin, the guard she has up dropping for a second. I forgot how much I liked the little gap between her front teeth. But before I know it, her professional demeanor is back. “Anyway, I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“Tuesday.” I nod and go to change back into my work clothes.

By the time I get out, she’s gone, or with another client. I change into my work clothes and handle some urgent emails on my phone before walking back to my car. When I get there, I see Katrina pacing between the car I saw on my way in and mine.

“So the room isn’t available?” she asks, sounding weary. “But the ad was up for ten minutes…yes, I know, it looks like a great place. Just let me know. Ok. Thanks.”

She lets out a shaky sigh, like she’s holding back tears. I press my car’s key fob and walk around it, finding her leaning against the little stuffed SUV I noticed on my way in. She jumps and clutches her phone to her chest.

“Sorry,” she blurts.

“Why are you apologizing?” I ask, my eyes flicking to the car she’s leaning against. “You’re not leaning on my car.”

She stays leaning against the car stuffed with bags and suitcases. “Just…I don’t know.”

“Is that your car?” I ask. I put my hand on the door handle to my car even though I’m not leaving until she assures me she’s not living out of her vehicle or doing the world’s slowest move.

Katrina glances over her shoulder. “Why?”

“Because it’s full of what looks like your entire life.” I scan her face. I used to know her tells so well. Not that she lied all the time, but she never, ever wanted to inconvenience anyone. So she always inconvenienced herself instead.

She looks away from me, a mixture of shame and annoyance on her face.

“If it was, would it really matter to you?” she asks. I’m not sure how she’s able to ask questions like that while sounding just as nice as she always does.

“Yes. I wouldn’t want anyone to live out of their car if they had other options, regardless of who they are,” I say slowly. “Does your husband not help?”

“I guess I can’t avoid the question this time.” She sighs. “We’re 100% divorced as of four months ago. Changing my name is a pain in the ass, so I haven’t done it yet.”

“Oh.” I swallow. That should not make me happy. “Regardless, are you okay? Or do you need a place to go?”

She crosses her arms over her chest and looks away from me with another heavy sigh. A surge of protectiveness just as intense as I felt back when we were together comes roaring up and nearly makes my heart skip out of my chest.

Sometimes protecting her felt like trying to wrangle a cat while standing on the edge of a cliff. For fuck’s sake, let me take care of you .

“Come on, Kat,” I say, leveling her with a stare.

“I’m looking for a new place. My last one fell through, but honestly, it might be for the best.” She shrugs, her eyes flicking up to mine for a moment before looking back at the ground. “I can handle myself, you know.”

“I know you can. But you don’t have to. It’s okay to ask for help.”

A little smile curves the sides of her mouth. “Says you, the guy who acts like getting physical therapy is a failure of some kind.”

“That’s different.” Sort of. But I don’t want to think about that too long.

“Is it, though?” She tilts her head to the side, and this time she scans my face instead. “I’m fine, JD. Really.”

“I know a place you can stay,” I say. “If you want to.”

And that place is my house, but I feel like she’d walk away if I said that right now.

What the fuck am I thinking? My house is a good size, but is it big enough for us to dance around each other?

I operate on careful logic and decision making, not instinct. But all that got thrown out the window the moment she seemed to be in trouble.

“I’ll consider it,” she says after a pause.

“My number’s the same if you need me,” I say, my voice low. “If you still have it.”

She swallows. “I still have it.”

“Good.” I finally open my car door.

“I’m really, really fine, though,” she says again as I get into my car.

I hope she is. Not that it’s my problem in the big scheme of things. Or at least it shouldn’t be. But to be honest, I’ll worry about Katrina for the rest of my damn life, whether she’s mine or not.