He donned his jeans and exited the bathroom. He could hear a muffled voice below that was definitely male and instantly went on high alert. Taking the stairs two at a time, he found Erica in the living room. She sat on the couch, her face in her hands, shoulders hunched in misery with a man before her, his back to Dylan. “Erica?” Her head shot up at the sound of his voice and his gut dropped at the disbelief in her gaze. He’d seen that look before and feared history was about to repeat itself. The unknown man stood, and Dylan recognized him. “What the hell are you doing here?” Greg thrust his chin up. “Stopping Erica from making a big mistake.” Oh shit. Dylan clenched his fists, fighting back the acid panic that bubbled up his throat. “Is that right? We’ll see about that. Erica?” Her pale features struck him like a punch to the gut and when she shook her head slowly, it tore his insides out. “I…I…” Desperation propelled him forward, but Greg stepped in front of him.
