And Dylan wasn’t mad. He was eerily okay with it, actually.

“Say the fucking words, Winter. Look me in the eye and tell me you fucked him.”

Apprehension twists in my gut. I’d rather swallow a handful of nails than lie to Aleck about this, but I know him, he won’t want to touch me after this. So, whatever works.

I lift my teary gaze, hoping Aleck doesn’t see through me, and look right into the eye of the storm to tell the worst lie I’ve ever told. “I fucked Dylan Kingsley.”

A thundering crack of wood splitting beside my head jolts me awake. The son of a bitch punched my cabinet. I turn and look at the fractured wood under his fist.

“Get out,” I grit, feeling faint from holding my breath.

Aleck’s eyes narrow into slits, digging into me as if I’m a stranger he’s disgusted with. His fist an inch from my face. I knew how angry the thought of me being with another man would make him, but I never thought I would see him frayed at the seams. So out of control and irate, he’d let his precious control slip from his grasp.

Aleck takes a healthy step away from me and drops his head back as he peers at my ceiling. His white knuckles tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing, matching the heaving breaths in his chest.

One, two, three seconds pass before Aleck uprights, looking me dead in the eye. Whatever tenderness he held in his expression before is gone. He straightens his spine, pulling his shoulders back confidently. Then he looks away and walks to my couch where his sweater is folded over the cushion. He picks it up, threading his arms through the sleeves, one by one.

The heir of his movements, the look on his face, all showing I’m no longer relevant. He strides toward the door, his steps dangerously calm.

“I’m not yours, Aleck.” The lie burns on my tongue. “Maybe I never was.”

“That’s bullshit, Winter.” He stops and turns around, his pleading lust nowhere to be seen. “You were mine. And now you’re not.”

The door opens, then he’s gone.

And this time I know he’s not coming back.

THIRTY-FIVE

WINTER

Leaning back into the plush cushions of Sondra and Preston’s new couch, I sigh under the weight of Sondra’s stare.

“I know you talked to her…” I say, lifting an eyebrow.

“Rebecca?”

I nod. Sondra’s been busy all week. Consumed with Preston and busy catching up on the work she missed while on her honeymoon. We haven’t had a moment with just the two of us in ages. Although I miss the enormous energies of Keith and Dottie, I’m warmed to have alone time with Sondra; the way it was before we made our duet a quartet.

Her lips purse into a flat line before she answers. “I did. She’s very nice.”

I roll my eyes with a sigh. “Elaborate. We haven’t been able to talk about the dinner party all week. I want to know, hold nothing back.”