Page 119 of The Sun & Her Burn

It was instinct that had me reaching for Sebastian with the arm I laid my cheek on, extended up over Linnea’s golden hair with my palm open.

He didn’t hesitate to curl around Linnea’s back, one arm draped over her waist and the other meeting mine on that pillow, his thick fingers twining tightly with my own.

When I woke up hours later, it was even worse.

My morning wood was trapped by Linnea, who had rolled on top of me in her sleep and lay draped across my body, her face pressed into my bare chest, her riot of waves half in my face and splayed across my arm. Sebastian was pressed up tight against my side, his arm still draped over Linnea’s back, his mouth tucked into my neck, breath hot on my pulse point.

I was smothered in them and for one exquisite moment, I luxuriated in it. The peppery warmth of their combined scents, the feel of them both trusting me, drawn to me, in their sleep. I wanted to marinate in this feeling of contentment so I would never forget it.

Instead, I realized what had woken me.

Miranda stood in the doorway to the kitchen with her hair mussed and her robe cinched tightly around her body. There was a clearness in her eyes I recognized even in the shadows of the curtain-drawn room.

“She won’t like this,” she said.

I didn’t have to ask who she was speaking about.

Savannah had been on my mind since the moment Linnea called me breathless with panic to say the paparazzi had staked out her house. It should have been beneath my ex-wife to call the tip in, but Hank had been a popular call when he lived in London years ago, and Savvy wanted to tip off the press to our whereabouts.

Could she have done it now? Jealous in the wake of bumping into Linnea and me at Nobu?

I wanted to think the best, perhaps because I was spending too much time with a sunbeam of a woman and a star of a man, but my weary, rancid heart suspected I was right.

As soon as I had confirmation from Boone’s team, I would act.

And Savannah would find just how little warmth I retained after the dissolution of our marriage.

Without another word, Miranda shuffled into the kitchen, and I heard the click of the stove turning on.

I figured Linnea would not have been pleased if Miranda burned the house down while I cuddled with her and Sebastian in bed, so I carefully slipped out from their bodies and went to supervise Miranda.

I wasn’t much of a cook, having neither the time nor the desire to do so, hence Bruce. So, I was relieved when I rooted through the freezer and found a box of Eggo waffles. Miranda watched me with keen eyes as I set about popping them in the toaster, grabbing syrup from the fridge, and cutting up ripe mangos from a bowl on the counter.

“You seem to be feeling better this morning,” I ventured casually.

She sniffed and tugged the robe tighter around her. “My mind’s like Swiss cheese. Even when I ‘feel better,’ it’s hell because I know it won’t last.”

My gut cramped with sympathy I was surprised to feel toward Miranda, who had always been a slightly ditzy, irritating figure in my life as Savannah’s best friend. Even though her voice was still light and airy, a steeliness had emerged behind her words that was new. Degenerative illness left its mark on everyone involved, and I could sense Miranda’s bitterness as if it lingered in the air.

I didn’t blame her.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” I said honestly, as I washed my hands of mango stickiness and then rested my hips against the counter to face her. “You and I were never close, but I hope you know I’m here for you. And Linnea.”

She scoffed, her features twisted up into something ugly. “Linnea, maybe.”

I shrugged slightly. “Linnea loves you, and I care about her so, yes, I am here for you, too.”

“The girl just feels guilty that I’m sick,” she mumbled, staring at a torn hangnail. “I wasn’t a good mother or anything.”

“Maybe not,” I agreed because I had no sympathy for her in that regard. “But you did something right to raise such a good woman, even if it was to give custody to her father. She won’t abandon you.”

Something about my word choice seemed to resonate with her because tears pooled in her lower lids, and she glanced sharply away from me. Her mouth tightened in an effort to keep the emotions locked down.

“She never comes to see me,” she whispered.

I knew without asking that she meant Savannah.

“She has never been brave enough to deal with the ugliness of life,” I said plainly. “You know her well enough to know that.”