I smooth a hand over the sheets. They’re cold, which means he's been up for a while. I stare at the empty space next to me and my chest aches. We barely spoke when he got back from wherever he went last night. He said his security job ran late. I said I was tired. We went to bed on opposite sides of the mattress like strangers sharing a hotel room with a wedge that could rival the Berlin Wall between us.
I accused him of spying on me for his father. I looked him in the eye and asked if everything between us was… is… a lie.
The memory makes me cringe. Eamon played me like a damn fiddle, and I let him. I let that manipulative bastard worm his way into my head and poison everything good that's been growing between Lochlan and me under the most bizarre and unexpected circumstances.
I drag myself out of bed and pad down the hallway. The smell of coffee hits me before I reach the kitchen. Lochlan is standing by the window with a mug in his hands, staring out at the city. Reaper lies at his feet but lifts his head when he sees me.
“Hey,” I say in a low voice.
Lochlan turns around. His face is drawn, like he didn't sleep at all. Dark circles stain the skin under his eyes and there's tension in his jaw that wasn't there yesterday morning.
“Hey.” His voice is flat and guarded, just like mine used to be whenever we talked. It makes my stomach twist into knots.
I walk toward him, stopping a few feet away because I'm not sure if I'm allowed to get closer. “Can we talk?”
He nods and sets his mug on the counter, raking a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “Yeah. We should.”
Silence looms over us, thick and uncomfortable. I hate it. Twenty-four hours ago, we were tangled together on this couch, completely in sync. Now we're standing in the same room like two people who barely know each other.
“I'm sorry.” The words tumble out fast. “About yesterday. About accusing you of working with your father. I know you wouldn't do that. I know you're on my side. I shouldn’t have questioned it.” I press my hand to my chest, trying to ease the tightness there. But it’s a futile attempt. “Eamon got in my head. He said all the right things to make me doubt myself, doubt you, doubt everything. And I let him. That's on me.”
Lochlan's expression relaxes the slightest bit, but there's something else underneath it. Something I can't quite read. Something I’m not sure he wants me to see.
“It's okay,” he says. “I get it. He's good at what he does.”
But I keep going because he’s obviously still hurt and possibly unconvinced. “It's not okay. I should have trusted you. After everything you've done for me, everything we've been through together, I should have known better than to believe anything that came out of his mouth.” I take a step closer. “I'm sorry, Lochlan. Really.”
He reaches out and pulls me into his arms. I sink against his chest. As I breathe in his familiar scent, some of the tension drains from my shoulders. His hand strokes down my back, slow and steady.
“We're good,” he murmurs against my hair. “I promise. We're good.”
But something still feels off. His body is rigid against mine, like he's holding himself back. When I pull away to look at his face, his eyes slide away from mine.
“What's wrong?” I ask, my skin prickling with unease.
“Nothing.” He turns back to the window, picking up his coffee again. “I’m just tired. Didn't sleep much.”
“Lochlan.” I put my hand on his arm. “Talk to me. Something's bothering you. I can see it.”
He's quiet for a long moment. His jaw works like he's chewing on words he doesn't want to say out loud. My heart rate kicks up because I've never seen him like this. Even when things were bad, even when the Russians attacked or when Riccardo challenged me, Lochlan was steady. Solid. The calm in the middle of every shit storm I found myself in the middle of.
I furrow my brows, watching him. Right now, he looks like a man drowning in something he can't escape. And it rattles me to my core.
“I'm just worried,” he finally says. “About the Russians. About you. About all of it.” He turns to face me. My heart clenches at his pained expression. “I don't want anything to happen to you, Adriana. I couldn't handle it if something happened to you because of my family.”
“Nothing's going to happen to me.” I cup his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “We're in this together, remember? Whatever comes next, we handle it together.”
He nods, but the shadows don't leave his eyes. He leans down and kisses my forehead, his lips lingering against my skin.
“Okay,” he says.
I want to push harder. I want to demand that he tell me what's really going on in his head. But my phone buzzes on the counter before I can say anything else.
Luna’s name flashes on the screen. My heart lurches because Luna never calls this early.
Unless… My heart stutters. Oh my God… no.
I stab the Accept button, blood rushing between my ears. “Luna? What is it?”
