The Sharpest Edge. Stephanie Rowe

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СКАЧАТЬ door. Sean was standing on the step, looking frustrated and determined, and her heart jumped.

      Did he look good in his uniform or what? He was so different from the boy she’d loved, but he was the same, too…maybe. “Come on in.”

      He stepped inside and stopped just over the threshold, acting like a guest. So different from the other night when he’d taken possession of her house as if he belonged there. The way he used to act when they were teenagers. Now? They were like strangers. Regret flooded through her and she tried to shut it off, even as a longing for the intimacy they used to share made her want to touch his shoulder. Lean against him. Feel his warmth strengthen her.

      “You’re sure the coffee is no trouble?” he asked. His voice was polite and even, and he was scanning the interior of the house. But there was an undercurrent to his tone that made her skin prickle. What wasn’t he telling her?

      “No problem at all.” Coffee. Right. She’d invited him in for a caffeine boost. “You can wait in the family room. I’ll start the pot.”

      “I’ll go with you.” He fell in behind her as she headed toward the kitchen.

      Their feet echoed on the pine floors, his steps heavy and slightly uneven, hers soft in her sneakers. She glanced over her shoulder. “Do you have a leg injury or something?”

      His gaze flicked to her face. “Why?”

      “Your walk isn’t the same as it used to be. It sounds different.”

      He lifted one eyebrow. “You remember what my walk sounded like?”

      She felt her cheeks heat up and she turned away. “I guess so.” How embarrassing. He probably hadn’t thought about her once since she’d left, and here she was, admitting she could recall how he used to walk. So she’d spent the last decade thinking about him. So every man she’d dated had fallen short in comparison. So what?

      She yanked open the fridge where she’d stashed her coffee beans and he leaned against the counter next to her, his arms folded loosely across his chest. “What else do you remember?” His voice was soft, with that same roughness it’d had when he used to whisper in her ear when they made love. The shift wasn’t intentional; it was simply how he spoke when he was battling his emotions.

      What was he thinking about that was making his voice gruff? She swallowed hard and shut the fridge. “Um…I think you broke your finger.”

      He glanced down at his crooked digit and flexed it. “Yeah, I did.”

      The churning of the coffee grinder startled them both and they looked at each other, then laughed at the same time. “Guess I’m a little on edge,” she said.

      His smile faded into something soft. “Yeah, me, too.”

      “Really?” The old Sean had always told her his feelings, but she hadn’t thought this new, aloof Sean would.

      He shrugged, his gaze fixed on her as she shoveled grounds into the machine. “I thought someone was out in the woods when I got here.”

      Her hand slipped and she dumped the grounds on the counter. “You did?”

      He reached out and brushed his fingers over the back of her hand, his touch light and shockingly heavy at the same time. A gesture he’d made a thousand times before. Their unspoken language of support. Her gut lurched and she didn’t know whether to pull away. She’d needed that touch so much, but could they really go back there?

      “But I wasn’t sure if anyone was out there or not,” he said. “I’m not used to questioning myself.” He looked down at his hand, still resting against hers, and then moved away.

      For a moment, there was a tense silence, then he cleared his throat. “Coffee smells good.” He busied himself sweeping up the spilled grounds off the counter and into his hand.

      She nodded. Moment over.

      Sean went to the sink and dumped the grounds, then washed his hands. The only sound in the room was the running water, then the drip of the faucet after he shut it off. “I could stop by tomorrow and fix that if you want. Wastes water.”

      She met his gaze. “What’s going on, Sean?”

      He tossed the paper towel under the sink, knowing where the trash can was without even looking. “I don’t know where Jimmy is and it worries me. He still hasn’t turned up in California. From what I can figure, he’s not the kind of guy to lie low now that he’s free.”

      She shook her head. “No, about us.”

      He froze, then spoke carefully, as if choosing his words precisely. “What about us?”

      “I…um…” She licked her lips, not sure what to say. After ten years of apologizing in her mind, it didn’t make it any easier to do in person. “I’m sorry.”

      “About what?”

      “Leaving you.” She was so sorry. She’d loved him, and she’d hurt him. People didn’t hurt those they loved.

      “What about the rest of it?”

      She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

      “Leaving your family. Abandoning them. Hating them. What about that?”

      Defensiveness made her voice sharp. “You don’t understand.”

      He leaned against the counter again and folded his arms over his chest. “Then tell me. Tell me why you let your father sit alone in his hospital room every day without visiting him. Tell me why you didn’t come home for your mom’s funeral. Tell me why, Kim. Explain it to me so I can stop hating you.”

      Pain shot through her. “You hate me?”

      “Yes.”

      “Oh, God.” She sat down at the table and blinked hard. Her throat was tight. “You used to love me and now you hate me?” It hurt. So much.

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