Chapter 25

Savage has been out therefor a while.

Talking to Cash. Great. I’m sure that’s going fantastically. Cash is such a friggin’ psycho about keeping me safe, that he’s probably putting extra pressure on Savage to protect me. And that’s going to complicate things.

I press my hands to my face and groan.

This is ridiculous.

I want him, and he wants me. And I’m leaving. It’s not like I’m any threat to his private idyllic life here. I need to talk to him.

I push up from the sofa and walk out into the hall. I don’t care if he’s on the phone with Cash, and I don’t care if my brother hears what I have to say, either. I want us to hash this out, because I’m not keeping it bottled up inside.

“Savage?” I call out.

I don’t hear him talking on the phone any more. I try the front door, but it’s locked, the library is open and empty, and the bedroom is too.

The back door?

The one he told me not to go through at the start of my stay here. He took that back, remember? He said you can go wherever you like. Technically, he told me I could use the library as much as I liked.

“Stop equivocating,” I mutter, and then I open the back door and step out onto the porch.

It’s wet, the backyard flooded, but it’s beautiful and crisp out there. Water stretching out toward the borderline, mist drifting between the distant trees, and a glass greenhouse rising ahead of me. It’s slightly raised on a platform just above the water.

A greenhouse?

That makes sense, given the horticulture book Savage returned to the library.

And it’s dry in there. Could he have gone in for a quiet moment to talk on the phone? Out of earshot. Ugh.

I grimace at the wetness then slosh across to the greenhouse, my skin prickling at the cool water. I shiver and then head up the stairs and open the glass door. I step inside and it’s like entering another world.

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

The scent of flowers fills my nostrils, and I walk down a long aisle, past tables and racks of soil and seeds, and then between the beds. A sea of roses stretches out in front of me. Roses of every color, red, white, peach, pink, and yellow. There’s even a row of peach roses. I’m drawn to that row.

I move over to it and crouch in front of the beautiful flowers, shaking my head.

Savage grows flowers? Not just any flowers, but roses? My favorite flower.

I lean forward and sniff the closest rose, smiling. The scent is light, not overpowering, but distinct. There’s a white plastic plaque sticking from the bed that contains the peach roses. I brush my fingers across it, tracing the lines of Savage’s handwritten text.

For Charlotte

“Charlotte?” I murmur. “Who’s Charlotte?”

A door slams, and I jerk upright.

Savage stands between the tables near the front of the greenhouse, and his face is contorted. A mixture of pain and anger. “What are you doing in here?” he asks.

“Savage? I?—”

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

“I-I was trying to find you. I wanted to talk about what happened, and I?—”

“So you thought you would come in here and snoop around?” he asks. “Is that it?”

“No. What are you talking about?” I ask. “I was trying to find you, and I thought because it’s so cold out, that maybe you came in here to keep warm while you talked to my brother.” I swallow.

Savage is breathing like a winded bull. “I told you not to leave through the back door, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but then you said that I could?—”

“I fucking told you.” He turns and shoves one of the tables over, releasing a frustrated shout.

I jolt back a step. “What are you doing?” My throat tightens. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He glares at me, his gaze dark and unyielding. He takes several breaths like he’s forcibly bringing himself under control. “Get out of here.”

“What?”

“Get out of my greenhouse. Now.” He points to the door.

Tears well in my eyes. I stare at him, shaking my head. “Whatever. Just, whatever.” I walk past him, holding my head high, ignoring the waves of heat and anger that radiate from him.

I walk down the steps into the water and head toward the back of the house, my pulse racing. I don’t know what I just found, but I’m guessing that whatever it is, Savage didn’t want me to see it or know about it.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his broken heart, and his rage, and anger. Fuck him and his stupid beard.

I might’ve done the wrong thing, but I don’t have to put up with a man yelling at me about it.

I head into his bedroom and slam the door behind me, and the tears spill over and stream down my cheeks. I slap them away and enter the bathroom. I blow my nose and release a breath, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

My hair’s a mess, my cheeks are pink, my eyes red. “What is this?” I ask. “What the hell is going on?”

I am not about what I’m feeling right now.

I don’t understand what’s going on with Savage. He’s been kind to me, caring, and protective, but I won’t accept a man yelling at me like that. Not when he won’t even tell me what the hell he’s yelling about. Everyone has boundaries, and yes, I crossed his by going out of the back door, but he’s crossed mine by raising his voice at me a second time.

I go back into the bedroom and lie down on the bed, hating that I like the smell of the sheets, that I’m so confused and hurt.

The back door shuts, and Savage’s footsteps track past the bedroom door. They hesitate in front of it then continue down the hallway.

“Asshole,” I mutter.

I pull a pillow over my head and lie there, staring at the ceiling.

He wants me, but he doesn’t. He’s caring, but he won’t let me in. He won’t help me understand why his rules are the way they are, or what any of this is about.

And who’s Charlotte?

Did Savage breed those roses specifically for her? For this Charlotte woman? That’s why he’s angry? Because he’s holding a candle for another woman and he deeply regrets doing anything with me?

It makes the most sense.

I feel sick and stupid, and I roll over onto my stomach and bury my face in the pillow.

I’m such an idiot.

For a second there, for a few beats, I was sure that finally, I was getting what I wanted out of a relationship, even if it was sex. But of course, Savage doesn’t want me, he wants this Charlotte woman, and not only has he lied to me about why we can’t do anything, but he’s also yelled at me for finding out the truth. If that’s not toxic, I don’t know what is.

I squeeze my eyes shut, the tears leaking out of them.

My fault for thinking something could happen. My fault for pushing too hard. Not my fault for being yelled at. It’s not my job to manage Savage’s emotions.

And screw him! He’s into some other girl, and he’s folding me like a fucking accordion in his living room and making me come like five times in a row? Screw that.

I sit upright and punch my hands down on the bed.

Footsteps creak on the wooden floor in the hall. The house is silent now the rain has stopped. A sliver of sunlight peaks through the clouds outside, and I glare out the window at it. Traitorous weather.

A knock comes at the bedroom door. “Hannah.”

“Fuck off,” I yell.

I’m not much for cursing, but this moment seems appropriate.

“Hannah, please, I’d like to apologize to you for the way I acted.”

“Save it,” I say. “That’s the second time you’ve yelled at me, and that’s not even the biggest issue we’re having so just… Why am I even talking to you? Go away.”

“Please, Hannah.”

“Go away! Or in your words, get the fuck out.”

He leaves again.

“Asshole.” I flop back down on the bed and let the tears come.