(Brad)
I drove three blocks before I pulled over.
My face was throbbing where Harmon had hit me and I sat there with my hand pressed against my cheekbone and stared at the windshield and tried to get my breathing under control.
I hadn't expected that.
Not any of it.
I'd driven past the house without planning to stop. That part was true. I'd been in the area and I'd turned down the street without thinking about it, the way you did with places that had been part of your life for long enough that your hands knew the route before your brain did. And then I'd seen her standing there on the side of the house talking to someone and I'd stopped before I could talk myself out of it.
I'd told myself I just wanted to talk.
I'd believed that when I got out of the car.
I wasn't sure I believed
