Gianna tried and failed to find the right words to say, her throat tight as she struggled to either interrupt or comfort Zane's heavy ramblings.
He was spiraling now, his voice thick as he switched between apologizing for their past and his perceived failure toward his sister, the weight of it all spilling out in jagged, tearful breaths.
She felt an awkward prickle of displacement; she thought she shouldn't be here to witness a man like him truly unravel, but for the love of heaven, she couldn't force her legs to move. She remained in the chair, unable to march out, and lick her wounds some place else.
But were there even wounds to lick?
Not particularly, she realized, except for the fact that she had just slapped and punched Zane for no just cause. Other than that, there was nada.
She didn't love Noah.
