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My stomach bottoms out. I open my mouth to explain to her that I don’t plan on leaving her. That I want a chance to prove myself to her. But before I can even respond, she continues.

“Could you maybe give me the keys to your truck so I can get my bag? I need to call work, and the sheriff, and probably a locksmith about getting those changed.” The exhaustion from yesterday is back full force, playing in her eyes, straining her features. “Please.”

Despite the need to step in and do it all for her, I take a step back. “I’ll get it,” I say, motioning to the tray on the desk. “Eat something. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

By the look on her face, I can tell she doesn’t like that. But I turn away before she can stop me.

The house is quiet, giving me too much space with my own thoughts. Had I totally misread last night? Was I wrong with how I felt?

Shaking my head, I leave the house and walk to my truck. Waiting for me is Casper, his arms crossed. I can tell he’s pissed I no-showed last night and this morning. Somehow, it’s worse because our eldest brother is with him.

Foster has his hands in his pockets, cowboy hat covering his hair, wearing a look I can’t read. “You good?” he asks, nodding to the truck.

I release a heavy breath and push past them to the passenger side door. Within are the leftovers I didn’t take inside and Imogen’s purse. I grab both bags, prepared to toss the now gross leftovers into the trash can by the side of the house.

“What’s your problem, man?” Casper snaps, stepping in my way. “What the hell happened with the nurse?”

I clench my jaw, gaze darting to the house. Like I expect her to be in the doorway, waiting for me.

But she’s not.

After a moment, I sigh and look back at my brothers. “I took her home last night and someone had broken in while we were at dinner,” I explain, leaning against the hood of the truck. “I didn’t think she should be left alone, so I brought her back here.”

Casper’s eyes narrow; man is a stickler for rules, just like Foster. But the latter can’t talk—he rescued his future wife from the side of the road. And Casper has been hung up on the only woman he’s ever loved because he made a choice he can’t take back. So, I don’t think either have the right to comment on my situation.

“What’s the deal with her?” Foster asks. “What’s going on?”

I shrug, but it’s Casper who answers. “Iris is playing her usual games, and he’s falling for it.” My twin turns to our older brother, totally ignoring me. “He accepted some demand from Iris the other day. Something about planning her funeral. And he’s being forced to do it with her new nurse. That’s who’s hiding in his old bedroom.”

Foster nods slowly, like he understands. But neither of them do. “Don’t judge me,” I warn, glaring at both of them. “There is nothing else going on, she’s made sure of that.”

I realise too late that I sound bitter and hurt.

Casper turns to me, concern flashing across his eyes. “Cal?—”

I push past them. “Don’t.”

“If you want to fight for her,” Foster calls out, “then fight for her. Show her that you actually mean every word. Don’t just make empty promises.”

His words follow me into the house, ringing in my ears. I know I’m not ready to give up on her—on us. Foster might be right, but I don’t think Imogen is going to let me back in that easily.

The driveto her house is quiet, the truck filled with so much tension, I don’t know how to break it.

Imogen sits silently on her phone, placing orders for locks and home security—two things I wish I could handle for her. The offer to run down to the hardware store and pick those things up for her and do it all myself hangs on the tip of my tongue.

When I pull into her driveway, I release a breath. I look at her from the corner of my eye as she sits back, her gaze locked on the front door. She doesn’t make a move to get out of the truck. She doesn’t even unfasten her seatbelt. She remains locked in place, staring at her cabin like she doesn’t even recognise it.

That makes my frustration disappear. I kill the engine, unbuckle myself, and say, “I’ll go check it out. Make sure everything is still locked up.”

Imogen’s throat bobs as she swallows. “You don’t?—”

“Yes, I do.” I get out of the truck without another word, leaving her where I know she’s safe.

There’s tape on the front door that I cut with my key. I step into the house like last night to find it exactly as we’d left it. Papers all over the floor, files left scattered on different surfaces, the tear in her sofa still in plain view, and the broken pictureframe on the floor. The back door is closed now, the screen taped shut, and from here it looks like it hasn’t been tampered with.

From what the sheriff told me last night, he thinks someone found out a nurse moved in, and thought they could score. Didn’t matter that she works with the elderly and barely administers drugs—wouldn’t even have them in her home.

I check the house quietly, taking in the single bedroom with the broken window, her bed a mess of clothes I doubt she made, her tiny bathroom which had been ransacked by the intruder. The birth control pills she takes had been emptied into the sink, which makes my stomach drop.