Jaxon dragged a hand over his face, and for the first time since I had known him, he looked older than thirty-one. Not powerful. Not untouchable. Just tired in a way that had nothing to do with hockey.
“I didn’t collect it.”
“That is supposed to comfort me?”
“No. It is supposed to be the truth.”
I stepped closer. “The truth? You want to talk about truth?”
His jaw clenched.
I moved before I could stop myself, pushing the door wider and walking back inside.
If we were going to do this, I thought, we were not going to whisper in the hallway like criminals afraid of being overheard. Let the apartment witness it. It had witnessed everything else.
Jaxon followed me in slowly. Too slowly. As if he knew one wrong movement might make me bolt.
That almost made me angrier.
He had no right
