Chapter Twenty-Seven

Shane left the light on in the kitchen and climbed the stairs up to the loft, his feet heavy. His conversation with Dana swirled around in his head, mingling with the memory of Kit’s eyes when she looked at him as she left to see her friend.

He still didn’t understand what Dana’s call was about. She was angry and wouldn’t elaborate on how she’d learned he was seeing someone. She’d accused him of two-timing her all along, and that was what hung heavy in him tonight. He was not a cheater, and the moment he’d realized his feelings for Kit, he owned that. Maybe Dana was projecting her own situation onto him. After all, he’d spied the man’s watch on Dana’s nightstand and the two glasses of water by the bed. And somebody had been behind that door of her bathroom.

He brushed his teeth, washed up with rote moves, his mind too occupied to think straight. Discomfort jabbed at him like a sharp point to his gut. He did not like offending Dana or anyone, even if it was something fabricated in their own head. He wasn’t that guy. Raising Nick those years must have cemented a sense of responsibility in his DNA, and maybe that had been the birth of his ingrained need to rescue.

He shut the light in the bathroom and crossed the room to his bed, where he sank onto the mattress. He needed to cool his own jets and ignore the knifepoint poking at him. Dana and her lashing out did not need his rescuing. He did hope, though, he’d quelled her accusation so they could both move on.

He stared at the ceiling, hands tucked behind his head, and waited for the sound of Kit returning home, but sleep won him over first.