Kyra.
Pieces of broken glass and scattered items scrape across the floor as I sweep them into a dustpan. Zaire’s crouched under the sink, pushing the loose cabinet door back into place. The air is warm and heavy, still humming with everything Savannah left behind.
I shake my head, quiet. “Lord... she really f****d up your kitchen.”
Zaire gives a low exhale. Doesn’t look at me yet. “Yeah... she did.” He tightens the hinge. “But she needed that release. I could feel it building.”
I kneel beside him to pick up the pot she dented when she hurled it at the counter. My hands are still shaky, but I keep my voice steady. “You knew she still liked you?”
He sits back on his heels. “I knew she cared. I honestly didn’t know it was that deep... not anymore.”
I don’t say anything at first. Just
