Page 192 of His Reckoning

It’s open while a document is still pulled up on the screen.

My jaw tightens. Of course it is.

I walk over and close it without looking too closely, like that somehow fixes something.

I lean back against the counter and exhale slowly.

She knew what she was doing.

The thought comes sharp and fast. It’s easy to grab on to.

That’s what she does.

She watches and listens. She turns people into stories.

I huff out a bitter breath. I just didn’t realize I was one of them.

My gaze drifts back to the living room. To the couch, where she used to sit for hours, writing, then to the blanket she always pulled around herself like she lived here.

Emotion threatens to burst out but I push it down immediately.

No, that’s not what this was.

I straighten and grab the book again. Flip it open and force myself to read another page. Looking for confirmation … for proof.

And it’s all there.

It’s not exact or obvious, but close enough.

My grip tightens on the page.

“She used me,” I mutter under my breath.

I snap the book shut and toss it back onto the island—harder this time. The sound echoes again.

I make it about ten minutes before I pick the book up again. I don’t even realize I’m doing it.

I just reach for it like if I read enough of it, I’ll find something definitive. Something that proves I’m right.

My eyes move over the page.

The hero is arguing with the heroine. He pushes her away and tells her he doesn’t need anyone.

My jaw tightens.

I skip ahead to another scene.

The heroine refuses to leave. She stays anyway.

My grip on the book shifts.

I flip again, faster now.

The hero wakes up in the middle of the night, panicked and breathing hard. The heroine is there immediately, talking him down.

My chest tightens. I stare at the words longer than I should.

Because that part? That part is right—too right.