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“No,” Hattie said. “Just humiliated. Which could feel like the same thing.” She leaned in with another sly smile, then lowered her voice. “She’s in her room now. Probably trying to scrub the funeral out of her pores.”

I was well aware of it, and it was taking a lot of discipline to not go over there and knock.

“Keep an eye on her,” I said, letting the words settle between us with the weight they deserved. “And let me know if anyone bothers her.”

Hattie’s eyes narrowed as she stared at me. She didn’t seem confused or startled, just…understanding. An understanding only a woman who’d lived her whole life in Blackwood could have. She dipped her chin once, knowingly.

“No men near her,” she said softly. “Got it.”

I grinned politely and tipped the brim of my hat. “Much appreciated.”

I turned toward the lobby doors, my boots echoing through the worn floorboards like a quiet countdown as my pulse throbbed in my throat, tugged in the direction of the room where she was probably hiding behind scalding water and shame and whatever future she thought she still had before she hit my town.

Before she hit me.

I would have to make my move soon. I could only hold myself back for so long.

My mother had spent years proving that some urges could be resisted.

I’d spent just as long learning mine couldn’t.

CHAPTER 12

SIENNA

The next morning, I tugged my jeans up over my hips and caught a whiff of citrus and vanilla.

Which would’ve been great if not for the unmistakable note of corpse still hanging out underneath it. But hopefully the scent was just stuck in my nose and not something other people could actually smell.

Halfway through buttoning, I caught my reflection in the mirror over the motel dresser. And I wondered, not for the first time, when my face would stop echoing the trauma I was supposed to be done carrying.

When I would get a face that didn’t look like it remembered everything.

A fading bruise still shadowed my temple, the purple bleeding into that sickly green that never quite blended under makeup. My hair was twisted into a messy knot that said I’d slept hard and dreamed worse. And my T-shirt, wrinkled beyond redemption, sat under a jacket slouched over my shoulders like it was carrying emotional baggage right along with me.

My suitcase lay open on the floor behind me, its contents spilling out. On one side, the wishful thinking stuff. Pencil skirts, blouses, and a blazer that had absorbed a thousand hours of fluorescent lights and passive-aggressive emails, chosen for the version of me who might someday feel whole enough to start over in a California law office.

On the other side was the reason I would probably never get hired for that California office job—leggings, worn-in tees with punny taglines, and my college sweatshirt with a mysterious stain that had survived three apartments and one failed marriage. All of which I’d been wearing every day since I’d left.

Nothing in there said fresh start.

Despite my best intentions, I’d managed to assemble an aesthetic that whispered mess from every angle.

I yanked the T-shirt straight and tried to imagine myself walking into any of the local businesses looking like this and asking for a job.

Or, worse, running into him.

Sterling’s face flickered through my mind, unwelcome but stubborn—the way he’d leaned against the bar that day at lunch, tossing out easy flirtation like he had all the time in the world. I’d left first, practically fleeing, pretending I didn’t feel his gaze on my back as I went.

I hadn’t heard from him since.

Which…was fair. A man like that probably identified red flags the way women spotted a shirtless bathroom selfie on a dating app—swift and instinctive, accompanied by a quiet inner scream. One good look at me, my chaos, my nerves, my everything, and he must’ve done the wise thing and decided to back away.

I sighed and tried to ignore the curl of disappointment unspooling quietly inside me.

At least the concussion fog was lighter today. No spinning room, no nausea. Just a headache and a lingering sense that the universe was building toward a punchline at my expense.

“Okay,” I said, heading for the door. “Time for job hunt, round two.”