Fighter (Coffee Shop #4) - Katie Cross Page 0,83

reached for the doorknob.

I let out the breath when she pulled the door open. She leaned her face against it and quietly asked, “What did Maverick tell you?”

My brow furrowed. “Nothing.” My expression tightened with deepening concern. “What is there to tell me?”

Her nostrils flared as she considered me, then she shuffled back and motioned up with a jerk of her head.

“Come inside.”

The sound of the lock sliding home followed her closing the door. I waited until she started up the stairs first, and nearly choked on the coconut scent that followed her. My fingers itched to bury themselves in her hair. To take all of her in and kiss the pain out of her gaze.

The silence accompanied us to the top of the stairs. Once there, she stepped into her loft with a breath that sounded like a burdened sigh. I paused just off the stairs, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.

I hadn't seen the loft since before she moved in, but it didn't require any familiarity to know that someone had wreaked havoc on her space. The cushions had been ripped open, with stuffing spilled out. The shells lay empty now. Scratch marks in the paint that Maverick and I had painstakingly put on the walls. Broken television screen. A tied garbage bag sat near the door, stuffed full with what appeared to be clothes and the sharp edges of glass.

“What happened?” I asked.

Serafina folded her arms across her middle. “I think it was Amber, but we're not sure. Maverick gave the security footage to Jayson as part of the evidence gathering this afternoon. I haven't seen anything yet.”

My jaw ticked. This afternoon. Was this before or after Maverick called me and chewed me out? I skimmed the room, relieved to not see any broken windows. Then I turned back to her.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded vaguely, then motioned to the couch. The cushions were all there, but the second one was limp and nearly empty. She sat on the far cushion, which appeared half-full of stuffing, and motioned me onto the good one on the opposite side. I didn't want to sit. I wanted to pace. To hit something.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

“Sera,” I whispered. “I'm sorry.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. She had her bent leg tucked up against her chest as she studied me.

“Sorry?”

I waved a helpless hand. “I . . . I should have been here earlier.”

She shrugged that off. Her eyes dropped from mine as she gazed around. “It's not a big deal. I . . . I'm not really attached to any of this stuff and I just need a few more days anyway.”

My throat tightened. “What?”

“I, uh . . . I gave my two weeks notice today.” She met my gaze, but there was an unsteadiness there that nearly robbed my courage. “Dagny thinks she wants the lease and Bethany is going to talk to her about it tomorrow. If Bert doesn't need me, I may be able to leave in a few days.”

Leave. My mind could barely comprehend the word.

“Do you want to?”

She blinked. Her lips moved several times, but no sounds came out. “It's what's best,” she finally said. She picked at something on her pant leg as a heavy silence followed. My thoughts whirled, knocked totally off balance.

What could I say now?

Did her plan negate everything I'd just concluded and decided and felt? If she would only be here a few more days, then maybe she wanted to go to . . . wherever she'd be next. Maybe she wanted out and couldn't wait to get away from Pineville. Would it be selfish of me to divulge the way I felt now?

Or worse to hold it back?

I'd certainly been guilty of making decisions on her behalf in the past, which landed us in this exact position. If I'd let her tell me what she felt, maybe she never would have given that two weeks notice.

“I wasn't going to leave,” she said and broke apart my thoughts. “At least not yet. I told you I'd give you a week and . . .” She trailed away for a second, then picked it back up. “After I got your text this morning, I realized you didn't need me anymore. I was hurt. I felt . . . pushed out of your life. Out of Ava's life.”

Her admittance felt like a crater in my chest. Gaping. Empty. Smoking. Filled with ash and brimstone and something ugly. The irony was darkly comical,

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