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you. If she was in this support group, then she had something seriously wrong with her.
    She waved away my questions. “I’m fine. Just give me a minute,” she told me tersely, and I was reminded of that first time I had tried to help her. She had responded in much the same way. I was sensing a pattern here.
    I was getting ready to suggest that she go to the hospital to get checked out when she stood up suddenly, all signs of her earlier discomfort gone.
    “I have to go. Bye,” Corin said too loudly.
    “Wait—”
    She was gone before I could say anything else.

Chapter 5
    Beckett
    The apartment smelled like burned cheese and garlic.
    “You’re home late,” Sierra said as I walked in and dropped my keys in the dish on the table just inside the door.
    “There was a lot going on at the office,” I told her, which was a total lie. Lately I had been making more and more excuses to stay late at the office. Even if it was one of the last places I wanted to be, it was better than being home. With Sierra and her cold hostility.
    I had been trying to make an effort to be more patient and understanding with Sierra. When I found myself getting annoyed with her, I’d remind myself that she was adjusting to a changed life as well. That we were in a transition period.
    But the constant mental pep talk didn’t hold up very well when my girlfriend insisted on having her friends over to drink tequila late into the night when I had to get up early for work the next morning. Or insisting we eat Indian food for dinner when I had told her, more than once, that I had to cut a lot of overly spicy foods from my diet.
    We fought all the time. Over small things. Unimportant things. Things that suddenly seemed to matter a lot.
    So sitting in my tiny cubicle and staring at my computer screen was a hell of a lot more appealing than listening to Sierra complain about how I never go out anymore and how pissed she was that we couldn’t go hiking like she wanted to.
    “I made myself some lasagna. I wasn’t sure when you were getting home so I didn’t make enough for two. But you can check,” Sierra remarked offhandedly, loading her plate with food.
    “That’s nice of you,” I said blandly, going to the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of water, watching her as she cut into the very burned lasagna and feeling a little like gagging.
    I hated lasagna.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sierra demanded, picking up on my tone. She whirled around to face me.
    She was still dressed in her work clothes. And I could admit that I still found her attractive. Too bad her looks no longer overshadowed the less appealing parts of her.
    “Nothing,” I muttered, not wanting an argument. I was tired. I had a headache. I just wanted to eat something and go to bed. Alone.
    “Obviously it’s something or you wouldn’t have said it.” If I was trying to avoid a fight, it was obvious Sierra was gunning for one.
    I stared at her long and hard and tried to remember what it felt like to love her.
    And I came up empty.
    There was nothing there. Not anymore. We were strangers. This was not a relationship that either of us wanted or deserved.
    Sierra ripped open the cabinet, pulled down a plate, and slopped a pile of lasagna onto the plate, shoving it in my direction.
    “Here. Eat it. Though I’m sure you won’t like it. After all, nothing compares to your mother’s cooking,” she spat out. The venom in her voice drew me aback.
    What was her problem with my mom?
    “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked, confused.
    Sierra rolled her eyes. “Does it even matter?”
    “Do you have a problem with my mother’s cooking?” I really didn’t understand what the hell Mom had to do with anything.
    “No, I don’t have a problem with your mother’s
cooking.
Just how what I make is never good enough.”
    It was my turn to roll my eyes. Before tonight Sierra had never bothered to cook unless it involved a microwave. I wasn’t sure when I