Taking a breath, I went into the kitchen. Guilt tugged at me as I dropped my bag on Ivy’s antique kitchen table and went to the fridge for the juice. “Edden shorted me,” I shouted to the sanctuary, thinking she probably wouldn’t leave if we were talking about money. “I’ll get the rest. I’m going to talk to the baseball team again.”

“Rachel…” Ivy said from the hall, and I spun, my heart pounding. I hadn’t heard her footsteps. She took in my surprise, and a wash of inner pain flickered over her. Edden’s freakin’ attempt at compensation was in her hand, and I hated everything. Just everything.

“Forget it,” she said, making me feel even better. “I can cover for you this month.”

Again, I finished silently for her. Damn it to hell. I ought to be able to pay my own bills.

Depressed, I took off my hat and hung it on my chair. My heels were next, and I kicked them off, sending them flying out the archway to land thumping somewhere in the living room. In my stocking feet, I sat slumped at the table and nursed my juice as if it was a beer at closing time. There was an open bag of cookies on the table, and I pulled them closer. Chocolate cream would make everything better if I could get enough into me.

Ivy stretched to drop the money into the jar atop the fridge. It wasn’t the safest place to keep the money we pooled to pay our bills, but who was going to steal from a Tamwood vampire? Saying nothing, she slipped into her chair across from me, the length of the table between us. The fan of her computer whirled up to speed as she jiggled the mouse. My bad mood eased. She hadn’t left. She was working at her computer. I was in the same room with her. Maybe she felt safe enough that she could at least listen.

“Ivy—” I started.

“No,” she said, flicking me a frightened look.

“I just want to say I’m sorry,” I rushed. “Don’t go. I’ll drop it.” How could someone so strong and powerful be so afraid of herself? The woman was a conflicting mass of strength and vulnerability that I didn’t understand.

Her eyes went everywhere but to mine. Slowly her wire-tight posture relaxed. “But it wasn’t your fault,” she whispered.

Then why do I feel like crap? “I’m sorry, Ivy,” I said, pulling her eyes to mine for a brief moment. They were as brown as chocolate, with no hint of black rimming them. “It’s just—”