The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 379

What could he possibly say?!

Tell her he fell asleep clutching her sweater because it smelled like her? Tell her that this sweater had been the only cure for his insomnia all these years?

He had absolutely no way to explain this!

Garrison's face was cast in the shadows of the desk lamp, but Sloane could still see the flush of red creeping up his neck, spreading from his collarbone all the way to his ears.

Sloane didn't look at his face.

Instead, her gaze shifted past his shoulder to the half-open cabinet behind him—inside sat a cello.

Sloane's mind buzzed with static!

She knew that cello inside and out—the dark brown varnish catching the light like warm amber, the faint scratch on the back of the neck from when she bumped it during a competition at age seven, and the red silk thread she had tied around the bridge back then.

She had always assumed it was at Lexi's house, stored safely with the rest of her personal belongings.

Yet here it was... inside Garrison's cabinet.

Sloane pulled her eyes away from the instrument and locked onto Garrison's face once more. This time, all the fear had vanished from her eyes, replaced entirely by a pure, ignited fury.

It was an icy anger, not a fiery one. Her voice was terrifyingly calm, her enunciation sharper than usual, cutting like a blade.

"Dr. Foster," she said, "what exactly are your intentions with me?! What have you done to me all these years?"

Garrison's face drained of color instantly.

It was the ghastly pallor of a man pushed to the absolute edge of a false accusation, all the blood rushing back to his heart. A vein pulsed visibly at his temple. He opened his mouth, desperate to scream "I didn't!" and "It's not what you think!"

But looking into Sloane's eyes—seeing that same look she had directed at him so many times before, the condescending, scrutinizing glare reserved for a dangerous predator—he found he couldn't speak at all.

Because over the years, he had done one thing.

"I... I really don't have any other intentions..." Garrison was on the verge of losing his mind. "I just wanted to cure your illness!"

"And if you ever touch my personal belongings again without permission, I'll call the police."

With that, Sloane grabbed the cello and turned to leave.

The instrument was bulky, and her frame was slight, but she carried it like a shield, building a fortress between herself and him.

"Ms. Taylor—"

Garrison rushed after her.

Just then, a voice called out from behind him:

"Well, look who it is. Long time no see, Dr. Foster."