“Perhaps, but you need to finish what you started instead of scampering away like a scared rabbit.”

“I know,” I admitted with resignation. “Just not now.”

“Then when? Do you really think he won’t get angry again tomorrow or next week or next month? Tell him everything, then he can get angry and get over it one final time, but doling it out a little at a time isn’t doing either of you any favors.”

Fran was right, of course.

“Okay, wish me luck.”

“Good luck, honey. Everything will be fine. You must have faith.”

I gathered my tattered courage, started the car, and backed carefully out of the alley.

~~Easton~~

I didn’t need this shit. She’d run out on me again.

What the fuck?

Instead of leaving, I walked along the shoreline in an attempt to get my head on straight and calm myself down. If I drove home now, I’d have a major case of road rage, and I wouldn’t unleash that anger on anyone.

And I was angry, but I worked to rein in my previously nonexistent temper.

The couple who’d intervened had left finally after sticking around long enough to make sure I didn’t follow Caro.

I was the guy who never showed anger, but this situation went beyond what I seemed able to control, yet control it I must. I had so many questions, and she was the only one with the answers. I was ashamed of losing it, but I doubted anyone would be much better under my circumstances.

I was considerably calmer when I returned to my truck and sat behind the steering wheel. I was about to start the engine when that same rental car turned slowly into the parking lot.

She’d come back.

I didn’t get out. I waited for her to make the first move.

She walked the short distance to my car and opened the passenger-side door. In my peripheral vision, one shapely leg in skinny jeans followed the other. I swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel. Next came her delectable ass, which she sat on my leather seat.

Enough already.

I was torturing myself. I kept my eyes straight ahead. Looking at her made me both angry and horny, along with resentful and needy. None of which would help my current situation.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly as she shut the door.

“I know,” I said in a voice colder than the frigid air outside this car.

She dug in her purse, which was almost as big as my hockey duffle. My mother had carried a ginormous purse like that when we were younger.

“I meant to give this to you earlier before I lost my nerve.” She held out a manila envelope. Frowning, I took it from her, careful not to touch her fingers, and opened it. I pulled out the contents, which consisted of a handful of photographs. She could’ve given me her cell phone to scroll through the images, but instead, she’d had photographs printed. For some reason, the gesture melted my frozen heart a bit. At least, it was an olive branch, and I would graciously accept it as such.