I'd tried to stay at work yesterday, but after talking to Sarah, I was pretty much useless. Eason had brought me home about an hour after we'd gotten to the office, and he hadn't let me out of his sight since. I drew the line when he followed me into the bathroom. I wasn't suicidal. I was just a basket case. Worried about my daddy, dreading stepping foot in Mason Belle, fearful of what the next twenty-four hours would bring-it made for an emotional mess that Eason wasn't accustomed to seeing.
The sound of the zipper on my suitcase echoed around me. There was finality around that noise. I wasn't in the same room, nor were these the same circumstances, yet the low-frequency zing of metal combining with metal brought on the same anxiety as it had the day I'd left Texas. But Eason didn't let
