Page 63 of Unbound

All the eyeshadows shimmer under the basement lights, and there’s no shortage of blush and bronzer. She was clearly partial to the color blue—probably because it matched her eyes—and liked her mascara and eyeliner black as night.

I’m sitting on the floor, smiling as I check out her selection of lipsticks, when I hear footsteps overhead. I’m a little surprised Walker is back already. It really seemed like he wasn’t able to be around for this.

I don’t want him to be upset by seeing something so much more personal than dishes, so I carefully line all his mom’s makeup back into her case, setting it back into the box just as Walker comes downstairs.

I turn, smile slipping when my eyes land on not one person, but two.

And neither of them is Walker.

Ruth’s eyes move over the boxes behind me, lingering on the photograph still sitting to one side. “What are you doing down here?”

I feel like I’ve been caught doing something wrong, even though I haven’t. “Walker wanted me to go through some stuff to see if any of it might be relevant.” I don’t mention whose stuff it is. It’s really none of their business. If Walker wanted them to know what was inside these boxes, he would have told them.

“That’s cool.” Mariah bumps Ruth a little with one hip as she gives me a smile. “We just came to see how you’re doing.” Her smile wilts. “We heard Maren got a little testy with you at the office yesterday.”

Calling Maren a little testy doesn’t really do that conversation justice. She was fucking feral. If it was someone else being a total bitch to me, I’d probably have some strong feelings about it. But the man Maren loves was shot, and I told quite a few lies, so I don’t blame her for directing a little bit of anger my way.

“It’s fine.” I glance over my shoulder at the boxes before turning back to the women. “We can go upstairs where it will be more comfortable.”

Honestly, I don’t care about comfort, I just don’t want them down here. This place feels sacred, and I don’t know that Walker would be thrilled over a bunch of people parading through it.

I manage to get them up to the main floor without much coaxing and offer both women something to drink. We all end up with a cold bottle of water before settling in the living room. I force my lips together as I wait for one of them to say something. I’m not sure exactly what’s brought them here, but I don’t really believe it’s got as much to do with Maren as they initially led with.

After a few tense minutes of drinking water and staring at each other, Mariah finally gets the ball rolling.

“How are things going?” She sounds uncertain, which is weird. Shouldn’t I be the one who’s uncertain in this conversation?

“What she means is, how are things going between you and Walker?” Ruth’s tone is much more clipped and to the point.

And I don’t hate that she cut to the chase. I’d rather get this over with so I can get back to what I was doing. But I’m not telling them shit about what’s going on between me and Walker. I get that they still consider me a threat, but that doesn’t mean I’m inviting them into my bedroom.

Or Walker’s in this case.

“Walker is helping me figure out what happened to my dad, and giving me a place to stay while I try to figure out who broke into my old hotel room.” It’s almost identical to what I told Maren when she showed up in Walker’s office, accusing me of wanting to fuck him.

She’s right, of course. I definitely would very much be interested in fucking Walker, though nor for the reasons Maren insinuated. I don’t need his money and I’m sure as hell not trying to manipulate him. But again, not their business.

I do genuinely like these women. I think they’re good people. I think they love their families and will do anything for them and each other. Which is why I’m pretty sure we’re never going to be besties.

It’s my fault—I acknowledge that—but the chances of them getting over my lies are slim to none. Especially if it turns out that shooter was aiming for me.

Ruth angles a brow as she looks Mariah’s way, and Mariah shrugs. They obviously don’t believe me, but that’s the best they’re going to get. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist—or hacker, in my case—to discern how private Walker is. I know he loves them, but it’s evident he keeps to himself. Initially I thought maybe it was because they didn’t make him feel welcome, but that’s definitely not it. Based on the number of times I’ve been directly—and indirectly—threatened, they’re just as protective of him as they are each other.

So Walker’s isolation is self-imposed. Something he chooses to do. Which is exactly why I’m not saying shit to any of them. Because I’m feeling a little protective of Walker. Of his peace.

And I’ve discovered the Bradshaws are pretty good at ruining a person’s peace.

Ruth takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. I know she’s going to come at me again, so I brace, ready to give her another vague answer.

Thank God, I’m saved by the sound of the garage door lifting. I try to disguise the sigh of relief rushing through my lips as Walker strides into the house, his eyes scanning the space before landing on where Mariah and Ruth sit. His gaze narrows on them before snapping to me, dragging from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Like he’s checking to make sure I’m okay.

“We were just talking.” Mariah jumps up, a stiff smile slapped on her face as she quickly walks toward the front door with Ruth close behind her. Gesturing at a container on the counter, she continues talking as she enters the foyer. “I hope you enjoy your cake.” She gives a flappy sort of wave as they dart out the front door. “Have a good night.”

Walker stares after them for a beat before turning back my way, his brows knit together. “What in the hell was that about?”

I know girl code dictates I shouldn’t tell him what happened, but my loyalty isn’t to Mariah and Ruth. It’s to the man who has upended his whole life for me. Given me a safe place to stay so I don’t die. Force-fed me food with actual nutrients instead of letting me exist on junk.

The man who allowed me a peek behind the veil of grief draping his past.