His expression hardened, and his fingers closed over the ring.

I frowned, at a loss for how to make him understand without hurting him. Again. “Working apart for a couple of days isn’t going to make me forget you. I’m not interested in anything extra on the side, and I’m not going anywhere. But I don’t want to get married. I’m only twenty-three.

I’m not ready for that. I’m not even ready to think about it. You know that.”

He exhaled slowly, then stood, stalking across the room. “I know.

Believe me, I know. But I need this, Faythe. Please.”

My eyes closed, my heart breaking in slow, agonizing increments.

Then I opened my eyes, praying for the right words to come. “I love you, Marc. I always will. I’m giving you my word on that, and asking you to trust me. No symbols, no complications. Just my promise, which means as much to me as that ring means to you. Right now, that’s what I have to offer.” I paused, pleading with him silently. Then aloud. “Please tell me it’s enough.”

Marc stared at me in disappointment bordering on devastation, and in that moment, I came closer to going back on my own word than I ever had. My resolve wavered as my focus shifted back and forth between his face and the fist enclosing the ring. I couldn’t stand seeing him in such pain because of me.

“It’s not enough,” he whispered through clenched teeth, his jaw bulging. “I need to know we have a future together. Here, with the Pride.

Where we belong.”

“Marc. I can’t…” I stood and took a step toward him, but he only stepped back.

Disappointment drained from his features with alarming speed, replaced with anger. Very, very familiar anger. “Thank you, Faythe.” He shoved the ring into his pocket, and I shuddered as the gravelly quality of fury in his voice sent tremors up my spine. “You’ve just handed me back my balls, and given me the resolve to do what I should have done years ago.”

In one fierce motion, he pul ed my door open without bothering to turn the knob first. Wood splintered as the fragile frame broke and the hinges tore free. The hollow panel fell forward, pulling a thin strip of wood with it. The strip fell to my carpet, and Marc lifted the door out of the way, propping it against my wall. Then he turned left into the hallway without a single glance back at me.

Seconds later, the back door slammed shut behind him, and I flinched.

Marc was gone.

After Marc left, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t do anything but stand in the middle of my room clutching the broken piece of door frame. I stil smelled him, no matter which way I turned, and it actually took me several minutes to figure out that his scent was coming from me. From all over me.

Numb, I sank to the floor at the foot of my bed, leaning against the footboard with my knees pulled up to my chest. I held my hands cupped over my face, trying to stop the tears as I breathed in Marc’s scent.

Something nudged my foot, and I looked up, hoping to see Marc, even if he was still mad. It was Ethan. He didn’t smile at me, and he didn’t say anything. He just pulled me up by my tear-damp hands and wrapped his arms around me.

Finally, when I could breathe without hiccuping, he thumped my back twice and let me go. “I brought you something,” he said, gesturing that I should sit by waving a hand at my bed. I sat against my headboard and wiped my face on my rumpled comforter before pulling my punching pillow onto my lap.

At my dresser, Ethan turned his back to me, blocking my view of whatever he was doing. I heard a soft scraping sound, like a lid being unscrewed, then the gurgle of liquid being poured. When he turned around, he held a small paper cup in one hand and one of my mother’s everyday saucers in the other. The saucer held a single, huge brownie.

Double-fudge-chunk, from the looks of it.

“Where did you get that?” I asked, sniffling one last time as he carried the supersize serving of comfort food closer.

“Angela made them. Or maybe Andrea.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” He sank onto the bed next to me to recline on one elbow. “Seriously. They’re Jace’s, and if he finds out I snatched some of his goodies, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Understood.” I picked up the brownie in one hand and took a big bite, closing my eyes as I treasured the perfect, cakey texture and the smooth, creamy taste of quality chocolate. The brownie didn’t make me feel any better about Marc, but it got the taste of him out of my mouth.

Which was a mercy, considering.

“Damn, those girls can bake,” I said around my mouthful.

Ethan laughed, nodding. “They’re majoring in Home Ec. Or some shit like that.”

Ha. Our mother would probably love them.

“You guys will be okay, you know,” Ethan said, pressing the paper cup into my hand. Doubtful, I drank from it without thinking to ask what it was, and nearly choked on Scotch.

“Is this Dad’s?” I asked, stil sputtering as I located the bottle of Scoresby on my dresser.

“You think I’ve got a death wish?” Ethan asked. “It’s mine. And that’s all you’re getting.”

“It’s more than enough, thanks,” I said, peering at the two inches left in the bottom of the cup. I took another sip and cradled the tiny cup in both hands as I met Ethan’s eyes. “I think he dumped me.” “I think you’re right.” He pinched a crumb from the corner of my brownie. “Seriously, though, what did you expect? How many times can you not marry a guy and still expect him to hang around?”