mad at her again, all because of that look in her eyes. He didn’t want his brother feeling gutted the way he did. “Yeah. Zane. Do me a favor, Keelie. Leave him alone.”
“Leave him alone?” Something flashed in her gaze.
“He’s got a thing for you.” Zach crossed his arms over his chest. “Now he’s hurting. He’ll get over it, but since you don’t give a fuck about him, don’t keep acting like there might be something there when there’s not.”
Keelie opened her mouth, then closed it, shaking her head like she wasn’t following the conversation. “What . . . you . . . damn it, Zach, I don’t know what in the hell you’re getting at here, but Zane and I are friends. I’m allowed to be friends with him.”
“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Friends. That’s why he sounded like I’d sucker punched him when I told him what happened. He’s interested in you. You don’t feel the same and that’s fine. Look . . .” He blew out a breath and said, “I’m not ready to talk to you yet, but I might be. Later. Just don’t mess around with my brother, okay?”
She gaped at him and, unwilling to stand there any longer, he nudged her aside and headed to his office. He couldn’t remember if he had any appointments scheduled that day or not. He didn’t want to be there. He needed to be out looking for Abby, but Zane had said she’d find him.
So he had to be findable.
The only place he ever was on Tuesdays was at his shop.
So he’d stay at his shop.
Until it was time to go. Shit. Then what did he do? Go home? Go to her place?
Swearing, he pushed through the door and slammed it shut. He headed for the desk but he hadn’t been there any more than a minute before he found himself remembering that day. Forty-eight fucking hours ago. How could life go straight to hell in forty-eight hours?
Groaning, he closed his hands around his skull and tried to shove those thoughts out of his head. Tried and failed. Rubbing the heel of his hand over his chest, he bent over his desk and decided he’d deal with work. Work would keep him occupied for a little.
* * *
“His car is here.”
Swiping her hands down the sides of the slim-fitting skirt of her dress, Abigale nodded.
“You need to breathe a little before you puke, honey.” Marin poked her in the shoulder. “You look almost as rough as you used to before a press conference with she-who-shall-not-be-named.”
“Blanche.” She slid Marin a glance and said, “It’s Blanche. I mean . . . I know you all know it and I know we were kids when we started that name, but it’s past time we stopped. She’s not the boogeyman.” She grimaced and said, “She’s not Voldemort. She’s just a shallow, selfish woman who never cared about anybody but herself. She called earlier, you know.”
Marin laid a hand on her arm. Abigale smiled over at her. “It’s fine. That . . . well. It needed to be done. Ages ago. I told her not to call again. I don’t know if she’ll listen, but it’s done.”
“And when she calls back?” Marin asked doubtfully.
“Then I decide then. But I’m done ignoring or hiding from her.” She blew out a breath and stared at the shop.
Marin squeezed her hand. “Are you going to go in the back?”
She nodded.
And just sat there.
“Well.” Marin drew the word out slowly, studying the back of the building with pensive eyes. “I could be wrong here, but I think the best approach would be actually getting out of the car.”
“I’m scared.”
Marin reached over and caught her hand. “I can tell.” Then she turned her head and pinned Abigale with a level stare. “But this is the absolute last thing you need to be scared of. I know you don’t know what’s waiting for you inside there, honey, but I do. It’s somebody who’s loved you for your entire life . . . now go get him.”
* * *
Bills paid.
That ate up an hour.
Supplies ordered.
That ate up another hour.
He sketched out a couple of designs for a client who lived over at the army base. That took up forty-two minutes. The client was still debating out in the shop. Zach wished he’d make up his mind, because if he wanted the work, doing the tattoo would take up the next couple of hours and then he could go home.