Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(80)

A security camera resides in the upper corner, the red light blinking at me like a dare.

I toss the box toward the stately entrance and cup Sloane’s head, pushing her up against the wall, crushing my mouth against hers.

The first noise she makes sounds surprised, the second is a moan. Her hands rake up my chest, nails scraping when she drags them back down. Her lips go soft, and her jaw relaxes in my grip.

I have never been able to scare her off. She’s relentless and loyal.

No matter how many people leave me, she never does.

It doesn’t matter what I say or what I do—what I like. She just rises up to meet me. Turns to putty in my hands while I kiss her senseless before sending her into the penthouse she shared with her ex mere weeks ago.





I’ve stood out here for thirty minutes, too tense to even scroll through my phone. Instead, I listen at the door like a total creep, trying to make out if I can hear voices or not. I can hear shuffling, possibly even humming, coming from the unit.

I’m assuming if Woodcock were in there, I’d hear a lot of bitching and moaning.

Keeping myself from barging in there is a Herculean feat. And it’s not even jealousy at this point, or concern for her safety, because I’m almost positive she’s alone in there.

It’s that I’m finding I don’t like being away from her at all. I don’t know if it’s the need to make up for lost time, or if I’m just being a clingy bastard, but I’d rather be in there helping pack her stuff than standing out here overthinking every small particle of my life.

And hers.

I hear the knob jostle and her petite form pops out through the door. She’s struggling under the weight of the box and still manages to look lighter somehow. “Hi!” Her voice is bright, a little breathy.

Rushing forward, I snag the box out of her arms and press a quick kiss to her lips, feeling desperate for her. Relieved. I want to whisk her away, back into the bubble that was just the two of us on the road.

Yeah, everything in our personal lives was shit at the time. But it was us, alone. Not all this other stuff to deal with.

“All okay?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“He wasn’t there?”

“No.” She shakes her head briskly, reaching forward to press the elevator button. “Just me, burning through there to find my stuff. It’s funny . . .” She glances over her shoulder at the door.

“What?”

“I just . . . I thought I was going back there to get my stuff. That I needed my stuff. But as soon as I walked in there, I wanted to be back out here. With you. Hell, I didn’t want to be here at all today, and I told myself I’d only grab the things that were important. The things that meant something to me. So I walked around looking for them but . . . I didn’t find them.”

“Did that asshole do something to your stuff?”

“No, no. It’s just . . . nothing in there means anything to me. I’ve lived there for a few months and I’m attached to nothing. There was nothing . . . important. Not a single memory of my time with him that I wanted. People say I’m overly sentimental, but I couldn’t find a single thing in there to feel sentimental about.”

Fuck, that’s sad. I don’t like Sterling but Sloane is a different story. And to hear she was living a life that held so little meaning to her fucking hurts. I slide my spare hand over the small of her back reassuringly. “So what am I holding in this box?”

“Oh, that? Yeah. I ended up getting every single thing that was mine and cramming it in there.”

I snort. “I thought none of it mattered?”

She lifts her face, looking like royalty as she tips her chin all high and regal. “It doesn’t, but I’m not leaving a single piece of myself in there. Not my favorite chips. Not a toothbrush. I want to disappear from his life. Just poof,”—she snaps her fingers—“gone, like I never existed in that penthouse. For a while, I felt like he deserved an explanation. But I don’t think he does anymore. That was the only closure I needed.”

She takes a small step closer to me, which is all the confirmation I need. Deep down I know it was never really a choice between the two of us.

But it feels good to be chosen all the same.

It also feels good when I slide my hand down and take a big handful of her Levi’s-clad ass while winking over my shoulder at that red blinking light. Because I know Sterling Woodcock will check these tapes.





31

Jasper


Jasper: How’s my girl? I’ll be back tonight. Meet you at the ranch?

Sloane: Yes. Really good. Especially when you call me that.

Jasper: My girl?

Sloane: Yeah. Haha. Never thought I’d hear that.

Jasper: Sunny, you’ve always been my girl.




Sweat trickles down my back in the quiet studio. There’s no bar, and the floors are too soft for pointe shoes.

And I can’t remember a time when I loved dancing so much.

Possibly as a child before it got competitive and came with criticisms about my body. Before it made my feet so sore I could barely walk.

For over a month, I’ve danced how I want to dance, ignoring every single responsibility and enjoying every moment of independence.

I stand in the skybox and watch every single one of Jasper’s games.