Why the hell would I want a guy like him back? He'd burned that bridge months ago, and I had no interest in sifting through the ashes. "Mister Slade," I said, my voice ice-cold and formal, like I was talking to a stranger off the street. "You should go home already."
But no, he just crumpled further, dropping to the ground in a heap and letting out these dramatic wails that echoed into the night. I frowned, crouching down just enough to look him in the eye without getting too close. For a split second, I toyed with the idea of calling Navira to come drag his sorry ass away—just to rub her nose in it—but I knew that'd turn into a full-blown circus on my lawn, and I didn't need that headache.
