Chapter 18

• “Fuck,” I curse again, running a hand through my hair, watching her walk out onto the terrace where the pool glistens under the midday sun, the water casting faint, rippling shadows across the patio. She clearly needs some space, and I know I have to give it to her, even if my chest tightens as she walks away.
• I head out to the car and pull my guns from under the seat of the truck, feeling the cool weight of them in my hands. Back in the quiet of the living room, I set everything down on the coffee table and begin cleaning them, the sharp, metallic scent mixing with the faint smell of coffee and the fresh citrus from Kendall’s shampoo that still lingers in the air.
• The rhythmic motion of wiping and reassembling the guns steadies me, lets me focus on something other than the lingering ache of our earlier argument.