39
Dillon
“Just give her some time, then go talk to her,” Reardon urged.
We were sitting on his back deck. He was drinking a beer, and I was nursing a scotch, as I wondered how in the hell things had gotten so screwed up so quickly.
I sighed and looked out over his yard, barely registering that the leaves had changed color. “She was so upset. So hurt. Jesus, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut when she looked at me like I was an asshole. I know her ex treated her like s**t, and I hate that she’s in her apartment comparing me to him right now.”
“She knows you’re not…” Reardon began, then joked, “Well, you are an asshole, but she knows you’d never intentionally hurt her. Not like he did. There’s no comparison, Dillon.”
“I should have told her what Jazzy said, and I should have told
