Page 48 of I’m The Worst

Then he turns, and his eyes lock on mine, making my breath catch. His shoulders are tight, muscles pulled rigid as he crosses to the table and sits. He doesn’t say a word as he begins to eat.

Biting my lip, I find myself asking, “Are you okay?”

Nothing.

“Is there a problem? Did something go wrong?”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything.

I swallow hard. “What were you arguing about?”

He takes a bite of his food. Then another.

Sighing, I lean back in my chair. “Viktor says you and Savva have a history.”

He stops and slowly lifts his eyes to mine. The look is cold enough to freeze fire. My nails dig into my thighs.

“Take your food and eat in the bedroom.”

“Why?” I frown. “What happened? Why can’t I sit here?”

“Now,” he orders.

“Why are you⁠—”

His hand slams against the table. The crack of it echoes through the room.

“I’m not asking, AJ. I’m telling you. Take your fucking food and go to the bedroom.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

I shove back from the table, leaving the plate behind as I push to my feet and walk to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing as the urge to cry hits. So does the urge to steal the bottle Viktor shoved into his bag.

The bedroom door swings open.

Wolff stalks in, shutting it behind him with a snap. He doesn’t say a word, just starts unrolling a map on the bed, his back to me.

“What are you doing?” I ask pointlessly.

He ignores me, a knife dropping to the bed, a ruler, the compass, and a pen. The room goes silent, except for the scratching of the pen and the soft rustle of the map. It’s so quiet, I can hear him breathing. When he moves, the mattress shifts. The pen scratches again. The ruler clicks as it’s adjusted. More silence.

Tears blur my eyes.

I can’t hold them back any longer. I try to breathe through it, but my nose sniffles. His head snaps toward me. He watches me for a second. His expression doesn’t soften. If anything, it hardens.

My shoulders start to shake, and I press my face into the blanket, trying to muffle my cries.

The bed shifts as he stands, his boots moving across the floor.

“We’re snowed in. We are staying another night.” He opens the door and leaves. And I’m alone. Again.

Fuck.

God-fucking-damnit.

My boot slams into the porch railing. The wood splinters, cracking down the center. Snow keeps falling. Thick enough to bury the tire tracks.