I feel guilty even having that thought.
“We gonna talk about this?” Roman asks.
I slam my tailgate shut, and then I grip my truck with one hand and my jaw with the other. I choose my words cautiously as I begin to speak. “If you start something up with her, she’ll find an excuse not to leave town. The whole point of her working here is so she can save up money and leave.”
Roman rolls his head, like rolling his eyes wouldn’t convey his irritation enough. “You think I’m trying to hook up with her? You think I would do that to you after everything you’ve done for me?”
“I’m not making her off limits because I’m jealous. I need her to leave town so Patrick and Grace’s life can go back to normal.”
Roman laughs. “You are so full of shit. You played in the NFL. You own a lucrative business. You’re building a ridiculous fucking house. You aren’t broke, Ledger. If you wanted her to leave town, you would have written her a check to get rid of her.”
I’m tense as fuck, so I tilt my head to the side until my neck pops. “She wouldn’t have taken a handout.”
“Did you even try?”
I didn’t have to. I know Kenna, and she wouldn’t have taken a handout. “Just be careful with her, Roman. She’d do anything to be in Diem’s life.”
“Well, at least we agree on that part,” he says, right before disappearing into the stairwell to his apartment.
Fuck him.
Fuck him because he’s right.
As much as I can try to deny it, I’m not acting this way because I’m worried Kenna will stay in town longer. I’m upset because the thought of her leaving has me more on edge than the thought of her sticking around.
How did this happen? How did I go from absolutely loathing this woman to feeling something else entirely? Am I that pathetic a friend to Scotty? Am I that disloyal to Patrick and Grace?
I didn’t hire Kenna because I want her to leave. I hired her because I like being in her presence. I hired her because I think about kissing her again every time my head meets the pillow at night. I hired her because I’m hoping Patrick and Grace have a change of heart, and I want to be around if that happens.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
KENNA
My face is on fire when I back away from the door.
I heard every word Ledger said to Roman. I even heard some of the words he didn’t say.
I walk to the storage room and grab my bag as soon as I hear him walking up the back steps. When he opens the door, I can’t help but wonder what thoughts are going through his head when his eyes land on me.
Since the moment he offered me this job, I’ve been convinced it’s because he hates me and wants me to leave town, but Roman is right. He could pay me off and send me on my way if that’s really what he wanted.
Why am I still here?
And why is he warning Roman about me, like my intentions aren’t good? I didn’t ask for this job. He offered it to me. That he would think I’d use Roman to get to my daughter feels like a slap in the face, if that’s even what he was insinuating. I’m not sure what he was insinuating, or if he was just being oddly territorial over me.
“You ready?” Ledger asks. He flips off the lights and holds open the back door for me. As I pass him, there’s a different kind of tension between us. It isn’t a tension necessarily related to Diem anymore. It’s a tension that seems to exist simply because we’re in each other’s presence.
As we head to my apartment, I feel short of air. I want to roll down the window, but if I do, I’m worried he’ll know it’s because I can’t seem to breathe properly in his presence.
I glance at him a couple of times, attempting to be discreet, but there’s a new tightness to his jaw that isn’t usually there. Is he thinking about everything Roman said to him? Is he upset because he agrees, or upset because Roman was completely off the mark?
“Did you get served with the restraining order this week?” he asks.
I clear my throat to make room for the tiny no I speak out loud. “I googled it on my phone and read that it can take about one to two weeks for a restraining order request to process.”
I’m looking out my window when Ledger says, “You got a phone?”
“Yeah. A few days ago.”
He grabs his own phone and hands it to me. “Put in your info.”
I don’t like how bossy that seems. I don’t grab his phone. Instead, I look at it, and then at him. “What if I don’t want you to have my number?”