Finding Him (Covet 2)

Bridge had done it, he’d been my fiancée’s hero while I was just the cheating jackass who was forced to play a part in order to get what I wanted.

I was a Tennyson.

I knew how to manipulate.

I knew how to read people.

I knew how to get what I wanted.

Until a coma knocked me on my ass.

And my older-by-a-few-minutes brother swept in.

I wanted to let it go.

But the betrayal cut deep.

The knowledge that while I was sleeping, fighting for my life, his hands were on her, his mouth pressed against hers, his words breathing life into the corpse I’d left behind.

He’d fixed what I’d broken.

And selfishly, I didn’t want to forgive him for that because it meant I was in the wrong, it meant that no matter what I was willing to sacrifice for my ambition, that it had been too much, because in the end it had been Izzy.

Our relationship had been smashed to pieces long before the coma, and I was the one holding the hammer.

I checked my watch and glanced at the dark shadow of the wall. She still wasn’t back yet.

Seriously?

How long did it take to get wood?

I waited another two minutes before the feeling of panic started to set in. I was an ass, but I didn’t want her to freeze to death, just to learn her lesson and hate me enough to want to leave midstorm.

I cringed.

Mom would slap me.

I quickly grabbed my coat from inside, then started the trudge toward the wall. When I rounded the corner, the infuriating strange woman was leaning against the wall with her tongue out as snowflakes fell against her face and melted onto her skin.

Another lifetime ago, I would have thought it erotic.

Maybe even mesmerizing.

But in that moment all I wanted to do was strangle her. “Dehydrated or just trying to be a pain in the ass?”

“Both.” She didn’t look at me. “It was a test. You passed—barely.”

“A test?” I started grabbing firewood, ignoring the way she seemed to stare right through me. I ignored the prickling awareness across my skin.

“Yup.” She popped the p and started a fresh stack in her own arms. “I figured a true gentleman would get worried and come outside to make sure I was still breathing, and a complete jackass from the city would just assume I died, which meant he could drink all my alcohol without any competition.”

“There’s a flaw in that logic.” I grunted, picking up a few more pieces of firewood and turning to stare at her. “I’m an ass through and through, I was just a really cold ass. Had I found your frigid body lying in the snow, though, I would have at least said a quick prayer before putting a candy bar in your hand and waiting for the bears.” I winked.

She looked ready to beat me with the firewood, only after making it pointy enough to impale me.

With a smirk, I started whistling and walked back toward the door. “Hurry up before I lock you out.”

She stumbled behind me, cursing me to hell the entire way, and for some reason it made me smile.

Not just a forced smile.

But one that made my face almost hurt.

All because she mumbled under her breath that she was going to set me on fire while I slept.

“I’ll be sure to sleep with one eye open, sweetheart,” I muttered softly, earning another curse from her as she started piling the firewood next to the fireplace.

And when she looked up to give me another scathing look, I broke eye contact.

Pretty.

She was pretty.

Not that it mattered.

Because my heart might as well have been buried in that casket next to my mom’s. God knows that’s how my soul felt, like the dirt was trying to pull me under, trying to bury me along with my mother.

I was just as dead as she was.

And I had to wonder if maybe, maybe the world was better off without Julian Tennyson fully existing in it.

Chapter Five

KEATON

He was lucky I wasn’t grabbing more sharp objects and pointing them in his direction. The fire roared from the living room, and every few minutes he would take a sip out of his coffee cup while he stared into the flames.

I’d managed to get a small fire started.

But I hadn’t done it well, at least not well enough for the rich owner’s approval. Within minutes of my blowing on the small flame, he was kneeling down next to me and lighting different pieces of newspaper, stuffing them under the kindling like a pro, and then giving me a look that basically said he was above me in intelligence in every single way that mattered.

That was an hour ago.

The snow hadn’t let up.

I kept mentally praying for a miracle, ready to switch to whatever religion would get me out of this place, or better, get him out of my hair.