19
My heart sank when I pulled up and saw Peter’s truck outside our home. That, I could have done without. I went into the house, pausing only to shut the front door and remove my shoes before continuing into the living room. The second I saw him, I stopped.
Peter sat on the sofa, muddy work boots still on his feet, arms resting across his knees. He glared up at me, his eyes conveying a dark depth while appearing arctic.
A cold pit of dread formed in my stomach.
“Where have you been, Jem?” His low voice barely held control.
“Poppy’s.” The lie didn’t sound convincing, even to my ears.
He shook his head once, rubbed his palms the length of his thighs. “No.”
“I ... went to Pop—”
“Don’t treat me like an i***t, Jem.”
“I’m not, Pete, I—”
“It’s f*****g Peter, not Pete!”
I went to apolo
