Footsteps through the kitchen and then I hear Jackson’s stool scrape against the tile. Penn steps into the living room like a man carved from stone. His expression is hard, fierce and unreadable. Jackson stands right behind him.
My eyes flick past Penn, looking at the Jameson agent. He doesn’t know me or Penn all that well, and he’s been a protector to both of us, but by the look on his face—he’s still on the job to make sure I don’t get hurt by the man I love.
My gaze goes back to Penn and I find eyes roaming all over me as they scan for injury, for damage, and land on my arm where the bandage wrap is clean and neat.
“You okay?” His sounds gruff, emotional, but I can’t tell if he’s angry.
“I’m fine,” I answer quietly. “Doesn’t even hurt.”
He nods once, glancing over his shoulder at Jackson. “Jace?”
“In custody,” Jackson confirms. “Taken without incident after medical cleared him. He’s going down and won’t be a threat to either of you again.”
Penn exhales slowly—not relief exactly—just one less thing on his plate.
The weight in the room shifts almost imperceptibly. Not lighter. Just different—like he’s setting one burden down only to brace for another.
“Appreciate you being here,” Penn says to Jackson, then glances at Willa. “Thanks for coming.” Then his voice turns ice cold. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d both leave now.”
I jolt at how rude that sounds, but this is Penn’s house. And well… we need to talk.
Jackson pins his eyes on me. “You good?”
I nod, noting the way Penn seems to bristle under Jackson’s concern. Jackson puts a hand on Penn’s shoulder. “She’s tougher than all of us combined. You need to at least give her credit for that.”
Penn doesn’t say a word.
I rise from the couch with Willa and she leans in to give me a gentle hug. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will,” I promise, and I mean that. I might be calling her sooner rather than later, asking if I can crash at her and King’s place since there’s a good chance Penn’s going to kick me out of his home when this is all said and done.
And then they’re gone, out the front door, and the click of the latch sounds like the clang of iron prison bars. Menacing and without escape.
Silence.
Penn stares at me for ten full seconds, and then it happens.
The explosion.
I see it coming—the way his chest rises and falls like he’s trying, and failing, to keep a dam from breaking.
“Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that was?” he yells, arms hanging down but fists pumping open and closed, open and closed.
I sink onto the couch, fold my hands in my lap and wait for him to get it out. I’d prepared for this, and he deserves hismoment to purge. Penn paces in front of me on the opposite side of the coffee table, a storm in motion.
“I told you not to do this.” His voice isn’t raised but the low growl of anger is enough to slice into me. “I told you I was not okay with it. And you went behind my back, anyway. That’s not respect, Mila. It’s an absolute betrayal of trust.”
I wince, because he just manifested my biggest fear. That he would take this as such a deep betrayal, his walls would go back up. I swallow hard but stay quiet because I’m hoping by venting it all out, he will listen to what I have to say.
“I trusted you,” he grinds out, raking a hand through his hair. “And you put yourself in the crosshairs without thinking about what it would do to me if you died. Fuck… it’s bad enough you were actually shot, but what the hell did you think would happen to me if you were killed?”
The ache in my chest is sharp and twisting and I’m flooded with the guilt I told myself I refused to feel because I believed in what I was doing.
And then—just as fast as it started—he stops pacing.
“I can’t do this,” he mutters as he pivots.
He storms down the hallway, disappearing into the back of the house. I sit there—stunned, hollow—my heart sinking like a stone. I expected him to rant until he had no more, then I expected him to ask for my reasoning. I thought there might be a willingness to listen after his fury was expelled, but I did not expect him to leave.
