Chapter 98 (1/2)

Suddenly I can feel his eyes on me from where he sits in the living room, and sure enough, when I look over at him, he’s studying me, his green eyes curious, his soft mouth pressed into a soft line. I give him my best “I’m okay, just thinking” smile and watch as he frowns and gets up. In a few long strides, he’s across the room and leaning with one of his palms pressed against the wall for support while he hovers over me.

“What is it?” he asks.

Landon’s head lifts from his focus on Sophia at the sound of Hardin’s loud voice.

“I need to talk to you about something,” I quietly admit. He doesn’t look concerned—not as concerned as he should be.

“Okay, what is it?” He leans closer, too close, and I try to step away, only to be reminded that he has me cornered against the wall. Hardin raises his other arm to completely block me in, and when my eyes meet his, an obvious smirk covers his face. “Well?” he presses.

I stare at him in silence. My mouth is dry now, and when I open it to speak, I begin to cough. It’s always that way it seems, in a quiet movie theater, in church, or while having a conversation with someone important. Basically in situations where coughs don’t fit in. Like right now for example, I’m having an inner rambling session about coughing, while coughing, and while Hardin stares at me like I’m dying in front of him.

He pulls back and walks into the kitchen with purpose. He moves around Karen and returns to me with a glass of water for what feels like the thirtieth time in the last two weeks. I take it, and I’m relieved when the cool water calms my itchy throat.

I’m aware that even my body is trying to back out of breaking this news to Hardin, and I want to pat myself on the back and kick myself in the chin at the same time. If I did that, I assume Hardin would feel a little sorry for me due to my insane behavior and possibly change the subject.

“What is going on? Your mind is moving a mile a minute.” He looks down at me, holding his hand out for the empty glass. When I begin to shake my head, he insists, “No, no, I can tell.”

“Can we go outside?” I turn toward the patio door, trying to make it clear that we shouldn’t talk in front of an audience. Heck, we should probably drive back to Seattle to discuss this mess. Or farther. Farther is good.

“Outside? Why?”

“I want to talk to you about something. In private.”

“Fine, sure.”

I take a step in front of him to keep the balance. If I lead the way outside, then I may have a better chance to lead the conversation. If I lead the conversation, then I may have a better chance of not allowing Hardin to steamroll the entire thing. Maybe.

I don’t pull my hand from Hardin’s when I feel his fingers lace into mine. It’s so quiet—only the soft sound of the voices from the crime show Ken fell asleep watching, and the low rumbling of the dishwasher in the kitchen.