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He didn’t meet Quinley’s gaze as he urged her forward. “Yeah.” A curt response that invited no questions.
It hadn’t for one moment occurred to her that they’d bump into Lucinda here. Or anywhere, for that matter. “Is this where you first saw her?” Because if so, she would have appreciated the heads-up; they could have then gone somewhere else.
“No.” Again, his voice was sharp.
Arriving at a little lounge area, she halted. “Stop.”
He did, frowning, his gaze finally dropping to hers. “Why?”
She nudged him onto the carpeted lounge area and curved her arms tight around him. He went still at first, maybe in surprise. But then his arms—still loaded with bags—loosely came around her. She thought about guiding him to the sofa but, going by the tension in his frame, there’d be no getting him to sit. His instinct was to just leave.
He rubbed the side of his face against hers and placed his mouth near her ear. “I’m good.”
No, he wasn’t. And neither was she.
She could honestly have gone her whole life without ever having to know what Lucinda looked like. The human was beyond beautiful. Tall and blonde and elegant.
Quinley’s complete opposite.
And his reaction to seeing Lucinda… It was understandable. It was. Of course he’d find it majorly difficult to see her again, especially given that she was pregnant. It was one thing to know of her condition and another to have that visual of it.
And yet, it hurt Quinley that the moment had had such an impact on him. Her cat was equally wounded by it.
Little rattled Isaiah. Little caused him to freeze. And never in a public setting so damn crowded would he not protest to Quinley leading as they waltzed through a store. But he hadn’t said a word when she’d drawn him outside.
Understandable. Completely. Utterly. But it still hurt.
“Let’s go home,” he said, his lips grazing her ear.
Sighing, she pulled back. Neither of them said another word as they made their way to the nearby elevator, or as they descended to the underground parkade.
With every step they took, she pretended her chest wasn’t aching. Pretended her eyes weren’t burning. Pretended her throat wasn’t thickening.
Reaching the car, he unlocked it with the key fob. “Get in, I’ll put these bags in the trunk.”
Mutely, she did so and then clicked on her seatbelt. She heard his phone chiming as he rounded to the driver’s door. Opening it, he answered the call.
He kept his phone volume lowered enough that shifters couldn’t overhear his caller’s side of the conversation even with their enhanced hearing. But she sensed from Isaiah’s responses and queries that it was Deke regarding an enforcer-related matter. It seemed that he intended to update Isaiah on incidents he’d missed.
Isaiah paused the conversation long enough to link his phone to the car’s Bluetooth, and then he continued the call as he drove. His voice was slightly stiff, but he otherwise sounded remarkably normal.
The phone conversation didn’t end until shortly before they arrived at the cul-de-sac. She opened her mouth to speak… but didn’t really know what to say. She couldn’t relate to his pain; wouldn’t have felt the same depth of it in his shoes.
But she didn’t think it wise to just pretend it away. That wouldn’t help either of them. And she didn’t want him holding his feelings inside.
Once they’d parked the car in their driveway, he scooped the bags out of the trunk and carried them inside. As they hung their coats on the rack in the hall, she asked, “Are you okay?”
His gaze snapped to hers. “Yeah.” He looked genuine. Sounded genuine. But she wasn’t convinced. She didn’t see how he could possibly be “okay.”
Following him into the living area, she said, “I don’t want to pretend that that didn’t just happen; that we didn’t see her. Let’s not do that.”
He shrugged, setting down the bags near the armchair. “I confirmed it was her. What else is there to say?”
Maybe nothing. Or maybe he just didn’t want to speak his thoughts to Quinley, worried it would make her feel bad. He wouldn’t want to hurt her.
She appreciated his sensitivity, yes, but she didn’t like the idea that he might be ignoring his own pain. Didn’t like that he’d refuse to process it in order to dance around her feelings. “Do you need some space?”
His brows flew together. “Fuck, no.”
