The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 133

Petty’s hands shook as she clutched her phone, anger bubbling up so fiercely she almost dropped it. Just as the phone was about to slip, a warm, steady hand caught hers from underneath.

“Petty?”

She blinked at Harris, who was watching her with concern. Her mind was spinning, blank except for the sting of humiliation burning in her chest.

Swallowing hard, she forced back the tears. “Harris, I have to go. Something came up.”

No way. They couldn’t tear it down.

That treehouse meant everything to her. She could live with it falling in a storm, or being washed away in some wild thunderstorm—that would be fate. But having it destroyed like this, on someone’s orders, was too much to bear.

She couldn’t just watch Laura order the demolition. Not after all these years.

Last night, her grandmother had asked if she wanted anything in the divorce. She didn’t care about anything else, just the house at The Glades.

Grandma had told Jackson to get a contract ready, and later Franco came into the room. Petty figured Grandma wanted him to sign it.

But today, there was no mention of it. Maybe even Grandma couldn’t convince Franco this time.

Petty sped toward The Glades, barely noticing the world outside her window. Tears burned in her bloodshot eyes, and loneliness pressed down on her like never before. She tried to grip the steering wheel, but her hands felt numb, her jaw trembling as she fought to keep it together.

Out of nowhere, a little white kitten darted from the bushes, clueless about the speeding car. It wobbled right onto the road.

Petty’s heart nearly stopped. Instinct took over as she yanked the wheel and slammed the brakes.

The tires screeched. Her head smacked into the door.

The kitten let out a tiny yelp and disappeared back into the bushes.

He clicked it on, shining the light into her eyes. Relief washed over him when her pupils responded normally.

He checked her arms and legs. Apart from the red-purple bruise, half-hidden by her hair at her temple, she seemed okay.

Petty’s eyes finally opened. She looked at him, dazed and unfocused.

Harris let out a shaky breath, a smile breaking through his worry. He was still rattled though, and his hands stayed tight on her face as he searched her eyes.

Carefully, he lifted her out of the car and carried her toward his Maybach.

Just then, she clung to his collar, her grip weak but desperate.

Harris stopped and looked down at her. Her face was starting to lose its pallor, some color returning to her cheeks. He spoke softly, trying to calm her. “It’s alright. You probably just have a mild concussion. Rest a little, okay? I’m taking you home.”