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Chapter Sixty-Three

W hit took his time wiping down his yoga mat as the rest of the students filtered out of the studio. He looked up at Llewellyn, who stood over him with his arms crossed.

“I didn’t think you’d show,” Llewellyn said.

Whit tensed at the hard tone in his brother-in-law’s voice. He didn’t want to fight again. He dropped the disinfectant wipe on the mat and rose to stand.

A pang of guilt twisted Whit’s stomach as he met Llewellyn’s stormy-ocean eyes. “How is she?” he asked softly. He didn’t know how his question would be received, but he had to ask nonetheless. The only reason he’d come was to find out how Clover was.

Llewellyn sighed and dropped his arms. “Not great. She spent two whole days in her room. She barely ate anything, and she wouldn’t tell us what happened. Look, I know you two haven’t known each other long, so let me clue you in. With my sister, what you see is what you get. She always looks on the bright side, and she tries to see the best in everyone. That makes her too trusting and na?ve. Why do you think I’m so protective? She’s too kind for her own good. She gets taken advantage of all the time. So when she puts herself out there—which she inevitably does—and something goes wrong—like with your aunt on Thanksgiving—she takes it really hard. I’ll always be there for her because she’s my sister. But don’t you think it’s about time you stepped in? You’re her husband. Why didn’t you comfort her? You fumbled, man.”

Whit’s chest tightened as a pain formed at the back of his throat. Llewellyn didn’t know what happened. Clover hadn’t told her family that he didn’t return her love. There was no way his brother-in-law would be talking to him this way if she had. He almost wished she had. Another punch in the eye would distract him from the uncomfortable feeling inside him.

Llewellyn stared Whit up and down. “You don’t seem to be taking it much better than she is. Have you reached out to her at all?”

Whit nodded. “I did. But she said she wanted to be alone, so I didn’t want to push.”

Llewellyn snorted. “Summer witches never want to be alone. We shrivel up. We need each other. That’s why we sent Ari in to pull Clover out of her funk.”

Whit latched onto this bit of information. “So she’s…better now?”

Llewellyn looked at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world. “Of course she isn’t better. If she were, she would be back at your house. But she’s functioning at least. She went to work today, and she’s even volunteering tonight. She’s still not really eating, though.”

Whit’s head bobbed on its own.

“Just talk to her. Nothing will get better if you don’t. Now, roll up your mat, and get out of here. I still have to clean the floors.”

After throwing away his disinfectant wipe, Whit rolled up his mat and put it away on the shelf. As he pulled on his coat, Llewellyn called out a goodbye, which Whit acknowledged by raising a hand.

His mind raced with all of the information Llewellyn had given him. If it was true that Clover didn’t really want him to leave her alone, then he should go see her. But then, Llewellyn didn’t have all the information. His family making her feel bad wasn’t the same as him telling her he didn’t love her. He couldn’t approach those two problems in the same way. After all, hadn’t he comforted her properly once everyone had left? She hadn’t seemed bothered by what his aunt said when she was sitting in his lap kissing him.

His heart ached to think of it. Was he really never going to see her like that again? Was he never going to feel the weight of her body, the warmth of her breath, the soft brush of her hair?

Turning on his truck, he started to drive home. But somehow, he ended up on the street where Pets and Scritches was. He pulled up to the side of the road—not in the parking lot but still close enough to see inside.

There were two cars parked in the lot, one of which was Clover’s van.

Killing the engine of his truck, Whit turned his face toward the shelter.

And there she was through the large window of the brightly lit kitten room. Her long, auburn hair was pulled up into a messy bun, exposing her pale neck—a neck he’d felt quiver at the touch of his lips. She moved sluggishly, tired and worn as if any little thing could rip her apart.

The burning in his chest increased. It was his fault. He wanted to make her happy, to protect her from the harsh world. But she would have been so much better without him. Her brother had said she was naturally cheerful, and he knew that to be true. Why did he have to drag her down? She was a summer witch. She should live in the sun. She didn’t need his winter sorcerer problems. She deserved all the love he couldn’t give her.

As Whit watched Clover chat with Orion, she suddenly smiled. It was a sad, pathetic little thing compared to what he’d seen from her before. But it was a true smile, and it was not for him.

An anguished groan escaped Whit’s throat as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against his white knuckles on the steering wheel. He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in cool air when a wave of nausea rolled over him.

He was in no state to drive, but he had to get away. Turning on his truck, he peeled out onto the street, his tires squealing in his haste to put distance between him and the feelings inside him.