She frowned as she thought of Duke and then pushed it firmly from her mind as she headed home.

After she’d changed and started to put together a sandwich for her dinner, her doorbell rang.

“If that’s Duke, I’m going to turn the sprinklers on,” she told Ginger as she headed to the front door.

Duke stood on her porch, looking so good she wanted to punch him in the throat for it. This getting past him business would be a lot easier if the man was gross, or slovenly in some way.

A gray T-shirt stretched across his muscles like a caress. His faded jeans were worn at the pockets and hems. And when she opened the curtains on the window to find him there, he smiled, holding both hands up in entreaty.

“Please, Carmella, hear me out. Just give me ten minutes. I’m sorry.”

Ginger barked once and walked away from the front door to stand on her human’s right side. Carmella looked at him, and though she knew she should follow the damned dog, she opened up.

“Why are you here?” Carmella kept her hand at her hip, squeezing to keep from reaching out to touch him instead.

“Can we talk? Please? I want to apologize and work this out.”

“Apology accepted. Problem solved.” She started to shut the door—not very hard—but he blocked it with his foot.

“Not even halfway solved. I made a damned mess, so I need to clean it up. And you need to hear why.”

Oh. He had this thing he did when he got bossy. He jutted his chin out just a little. Enough that she realized what a sneaky fucking alpha male he was underneath all that smooth laid-back exterior.

Damn it.

“It’s over.” Meaning the argument and their relationship, but not believing it even as she said the words.

He didn’t believe it any more than she did apparently, because he managed to walk into her house, closing the door at his back. Ginger hadn’t left Carmella’s side, but she also hadn’t so much as growled at Duke.

“I didn’t say you could come in.” Carmella was pretty proud of how nonchalant her voice sounded.

“I know. I’m a dick sometimes. But I aim to make you happy so I came in anyway.”

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

He frowned, looking miserable, and she nearly felt sorry for him.

He walked down her hall and into the living room, settling on the couch. She moved to the chair across the way—and out of his reach. Ginger settled over Carmella’s feet, keeping an eye on Duke.

“Why are you here? I accepted your apology.”

Duke’s expression showed surprise, but no anger. “Okay so I’m also at the point where I can see you have a temper.”

Carmella nearly snarled. If she did, it was all his fault. “I don’t have a temper. You have a temper.”

“Is that your version of I know you are but what am I?”

She just glared his way and he kept grinning like an idiot.

A hot idiot.

His grin fell away, replaced by a more serious look. “I’m here because I want this to be okay. I want us to be okay. When I said I was a dick, I was joking. I’m not. Usually.”

“But you were this one time?”

“When you raise your brow at me like that, it makes me so hot for you.”

Carmella stood and Ginger sighed, rousing a halfhearted bark at Duke. “Are you kidding me? Get out. I was an idiot to let you come in here.”

Duke joined her, hands up again. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I thought it’d lighten things up. Wrong. Sorry.” Duke blushed and for whatever reason it made her sit back down.

Ginger head butted Carmella’s leg until she gave the dog a behind the ears scratch. “It’s okay,” she murmured to the dog, who settled back down.

She could punish him forever, and no one really won. She could make him go and underline the fact that she was an employee and nothing more. Or since she’d let him in, she could listen.

“Thank you for hearing me out,” Duke said as he sat once more. “Like I said, I’m really sorry for the way I came at you on Saturday. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you what those pills were. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you told me.”

In the whole of Carmella’s life, she’d heard men say they were sorry more times than she could count. But when it came to actually believing any of them—with the exception of her uncle and cousins—she had a very brief record.

People said they were sorry a lot. People meant it far less often.

And yet, as she sat there across from Duke, she believed his words. He appeared genuinely contrite. It made her weak, that small hope. And she let herself feel it anyway.

“Can I explain? The why? I don’t want you to think I’m making excuses. I’m not. But maybe once I tell you, you’ll know me a little better.”

Carmella knew she should usher him out. Thank him for his apology but underline they were only neighbors who worked with one another.

Instead she nodded. “All right.”

“I’ve seen a lot of medicine bottles—like in your bathroom—before. And when I asked, I was told they were someone else’s. And I let it go, even though I didn’t believe it. Because it made me uncomfortable to push and pry. And then I watched Mick get more and more careless when our unit was out on patrol. You can’t be careless when people are trying to kill you. He got written up a few times for not showing up, or being late. Also something you can’t do when people are trying to kill you. And I knew he was self-medicating. I knew it and I understood it. Maybe I wished I could do it too because I hated being there. But he’s my brother, you know? And he was hurting. So I kept my mouth shut and he got worse and worse until he ended up overdosing.”