Chapter 54

Isat in my jeep staring at the lumberyard, stuck somewhere between what the fuck and what the actual fuck. A job? Sure, I could handle a fucking job. But taking on a whole division of a fucking company? That wasn’t my kind of thing. I didn’t like people enough for that.

Fuck, the people of Cedar Harbor didn’t like me enough for that shit. And fucking Sebastian seemed so goddamn confident that I’d take his offer. What the fuck did he know that I didn’t?

The whole thing was messing with my head, so I did what I always did: I texted Roan.

Do I strike you as a suit kind of guy?

ROAN: A birthday suit kind of guy.

I sighed. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting from him. Of course, he’d come back with some shit like that.

Fucker.

ROAN: I’ve seen you naked more than I’ve ever seen you in a suit.

I’m a fucking wolf, you dick. Of course, I spend more time naked than anything else.

We all did.

ROAN: Mhmm. That’s why.

Why are we even having this conversation?

ROAN: I don’t fucking know! You texted me, you furry fuck.

ROAN: Why are you asking?

I got a job offer but it’s a suit and career kind of job offer.

ROAN: Damn. So what’s the problem?

I don’t know if I want to do it.

ROAN: Why?

I don’t know if I want to be tied down to a desk. Or have a fucking career that big.

ROAN: Do you have other job offers right now?

No.

ROAN: Would it pay the fucking bills?

More than.

ROAN: Then fucking take the job, you idiot. It’s a goddamn job and it pays well. What else do you need?

What did I need? Fuck if I knew.

I don’t know what the fuck I need right now.

ROAN: You doing okay?

Well, if that wasn’t a fucking loaded question.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. What the hell was I even feeling? Overwhelmed? Stressed the fuck out? Worried? Confused? Who fucking knew anymore.

I had no idea

Yeah

ROAN: You sure about that? You fucking hesitated.

I didn’t fucking hesitate.

ROAN: You did and you know it. Ginny?

Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about Genevieve with him. I wouldn’t lie—he’d see right through that shit—but I didn’t have to fucking like it. Roan had strong feelings about the sort-of-end to my marriage.

I’m trying but I don’t think it’s working.

ROAN: I love you and all, Killian, but do you really think you two should get back together?

I’m not asking you to like it.

ROAN: As someone who picked your ass up off the floor the last time, I don’t.

There it was. Not that I blamed him. Picking my ass up off the goddamn floor was an understatement when it came to the shit he’d done for me.

Fucking hell. Not holding punches?

ROAN: No. I’m just worried about you and what’s going to happen as a result.

Like I said, don’t think it’s fucking working anyway so nothing to fucking worry about.

But was there?Doing David’s fucking emotional tracking thing was wearing on me. It was painfully obvious I was dipping again. If I sat too long with anything, the darkness crept in and brought all the irrational fucking thoughts. They were loud as fuck, making it hard to sleep and hard to focus. I just tried to keep busy.

ROAN: I’ll always worry about you, boo thang.

Jesus fuck.

ROAN: You love me.

Debatable.

We’d do this all fucking evening if I didn’t change the conversation.

Are you guys okay?

ROAN: It’s quiet here. No bullshit besides the norm.

ROAN: Are the lot of you safe?

Fuck, I don’t know. It feels like the calm before the fucking storm, you know?

ROAN: Cole’s still looking into his connections to see what he can find. Dad too. Until then, just keep your head low.

ROAN: And tell us if you guys need help. We’ll all fucking ride at dawn if we have to. Sound the alarm, gather the troops, and all that fucking medieval crap.

When was the last fucking time you woke up before dawn?

ROAN: Please. The sun rises to greet my sexy ass.

You keep telling yourself that.

ROAN: Oh, I fucking will.

I chuckled because despite everything, talking to Roan always managed to help me feel better. It was just the nature of our friendship. Thank fuck for that.

It put me in just enough of a mood where making the next phone call didn’t seem nearly as daunting. It’d been days since Genevieve had left me at the house. I told her I’d give her space—and I meant it. At the time. Days seemed like more than enough space. We had shit to work out, and it was time to do just that.

Connecting my phone to the Jeep’s Bluetooth, I called her.

“The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.” I frowned. There was no way in hell she disconnected her phone. I must’ve dialed wrong. Trying again, I stared hard at my radio as I waited. Once again, “The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.”

Well, fuck.