Page 41 of Pretty Broken Wings

Fuck, I can’t focus. I need to focus. I fell for a pretty woman who was my brother’s once before. Never again.

So why the fuck can’t I stop wondering what books she likes to read?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

There’s some sort of weird energy between Gage and me, and I can’t figure it out. He stares at me with such unnerving intensity that it makes my legs tremble, and heat creeps up my face. It’s like he’s trying to see into my soul, which is dumb because he’s mostly blind, but I feel like he sees in ways other than just sight.

Then I remind myself that it’s just how he looks. Gage doesn’t care about me. He’s just another man who’d hurt me if given the chance, and that sobers me up.

We wrap up the prep, and I move to the front door, saying gruffly, “Well. Good luck with tomorrow.”

I wince. Good luck? Why the fuck didn’t I say: go fuck yourself?

Gage just grunts.

I take off before I can embarrass myself more and walk to my car. It’s even colder than this morning. It’s the kind of cold that needles into your bones and makes your skin ache with how dry it is.

I arrive back at my apartment hungry, freezing, and fucking pissed off. Snatching up my things, I bring in the mail I forgot about this morning in my rush to get to Gage’s.

As soon as I get inside, something doesn’t feel right. I flip the lights on and realize it’s cold in my place. Like, icebox cold.

What the fuck?

I rush to the temperature panel. It’s set normally at sixty-five. It now shows just slightly warmer than outside.

What the hell? I search for the hot water heater, or whatever the hell they have here, and realize that I can’t find it.

Fucking hell. It must be in one of the other units since this place was converted.

Shivering, I move to the stove to heat up some dinner. There’s no wind in here, but it’s cold. Just what I fucking needed. I’m mad, I’m tired, and I’m fucking cold.

I don’t want to call the landlord. I don’t want to give him any reason to kick me out.

For a brief second, I think about calling Gage. Immediately, I shove that thought away. What the hell is wrong with me?

I have to call my landlord. This isn’t annoying; it is a legitimate issue.

I go back and forth on it for a minute, then dial my landlord. The phone rings and rings until I get his voicemail. Cussing, I leave him a message, flipping my phone shut again.

I eat dinner, and the house is cold enough that my food steams visibly. Wrapping myself in a blanket, I check the mail I brought in from earlier. Maybe I didn’t pay a bill?

Immediately, I see it’s not a bill. It’s a letter addressed to me by hand. Only it’s addressed to Celeste, not Raven. The handwriting is messy, and my stomach drops.

No.

I rip the envelope open and pull out a letter, scanning to the bottom.

It’s signed by Max

Fuck.

I drop the letter like it’s poisoned. He found me? How the hell did he find me? I did everything I could to hide from him.

My heart races, and suddenly, I feel sick.

I need to leave much earlier than expected. I need to leavenow.

I count the money in my wallet, my fingers barely able to move, but not because of the cold anymore. Now, my whole body is thrumming.