Page 104 of Yearn

My fingers curled into fists.

I stepped forward, ready to kill him and the snapping of a leash stopped me.

What’s that?

A man’s voice carried across the yard. “Scott, is that you?”

I flicked my gaze sideways.

Jerry. One of the neighbors. Middle-aged, round glasses, plaid shirt, always walking his golden retriever.

Damn it.

The dog squatted near the tree in front of the house. His tail went stiff and his face was intent in canine seriousness.

Scott turned. “Hey Jerry.”

The dog continued shitting, and Jerry pulled out a plastic bag. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I know.” Scott chuckled. “But you’ll be seeing me even more.”

What the fuck does that mean?

The words hit me like acid.

And now I knew that he wasn’t just here to drop papers off. He was here to plant himself back into Teyonah’s life, like a tumor returning after surgery.

My vision blurred at the edges.

I wanted to lunge and slam him against the doorframe until the papers crumpled, until his smirk cracked, until that slick voice turned into a gurgle.

Instead, I stood still, forcing myself to breathe, because Jerry was still standing there, fumbling with his bag, and nosy eyes occasionally flicking up toward us.

His dog finished shitting and then sniffed the grass, unhurried.

I couldn’t do what I wanted.

Not with an audience.

So I stood there, rage burning a hole through my skin, watching Scott wave like some friendly neighbor instead of the villain he was. “See you later, Jerry.”

“Sounds good, Scott.”

Teyonah’s douchebag husband was sloppy, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew how to play a crowd, how to look harmless. That was his gift—mediocrity dressed up as competence.

Just good enough to pass.

Just polished enough to fool.

But I saw through it.

I saw the cruelty under his smile and the carelessness in his eyes.

I saw the man who had broken Teyonah piece by piece, then had the audacity to walk back in here holding papers like shackles.

My fingers ached with the need to act.

I imagined it again: his head snapping back under my fist, his mouth forming an ‘O’ of shock before going slack. Dragging him down the walkway, Jerry calling after me, confused, “Everything okay?” and me flashing a polite grin as I shoved Scott into the trunk.