Page 95 of Forbid It

Anger races through my body as I clench my phone in my hands. Of course it just becomes another argument. Another way to blame my father and try to make me side with her.

Still nothing from Dad. I turn to the window, resting my head against the glass as if the cool pane can erase the last hour from my brain, unable to do anything but wait for Robbie to come back.

41

ROBBIE

The bed is made, the pillows perfectly plump, and her bag is perched on the end of the mattress. Cassie hovers above it, fully dressed and avoiding eye contact. I’m guessing she’s heard the same that I just have from Lucas. Evidently, Callum McBride is a crafty fucker and hired a photographer to take some well-staged shots of our little disagreement last night, framed in just the right way to make me look like an aggressive asshole and him the innocent party guest. Lucas didn’t seem to be that concerned, but it’s also not a situation I’ve put him in before. I’ve never been one for trouble.

I slide my phone in my pocket, leaning one shoulder against the door jam. I don’t want to cross the threshold anymore. I can’t step into a room with an atmosphere so different from how I left it.

“Cassie?” I try to keep my voice even, pitching it low despite the roaring in my ears.

“I uh—” Her bag is apparently the most interesting thing in the room as she rummages through it, still not looking at me. “I have to go.”

“I thought you didn’t have anything planned today.” That’s what she told me last night, right before she fell asleep in my arms. “You said you’d hang out around here until I got home.”

“I can’t just wait for you to finish your job, Robbie.” She brushes her hair behind her ears. “I have a life too.”

My eyebrows rise. Out of all the things I thought she would say, that one came out of the left field. What the fuck does that mean? “Will you be at the game tomorrow?” I ask instead.

Cassie spins in a circle, opening the bedside drawer aimlessly like she’s checking out of a hotel and wants to make sure she’s not leaving anything behind. “Probably not.”

“Cassie.” I rub my hand across my face. “Can you just stop for a second?”

She stills finally, slinging her bag across her shoulder and lifting her head. Her eyes are glimmering, but instead of the soft glow I’m used to, they’re hard and piercing.

“I have to go.”

“Is this about the pictures?”

Her hand tightens on the strap of her bag.

“Because I don’t give a fuck about the pictures.”

She flinches. “Well, maybe you should.”

Lucas spent a solid eight minutes of our ten-minute call in crisis management, but largely things will be okay. I didn’t hit first and the CCTV footage he’s already speaking to the club about has helpfully captured that fact. Lucas wanted to put out a statement, but I said I’d speak to Cassie first.

“McBride won’t cause any trouble that I can’t handle.” My shoulder moulds to the doorframe, not letting me step any closer. “So what’s the problem?”

“There isn’t a problem,” Cassie tells me as she steps closer. A part of me is relieved she’s closing the distance between us, but when she gestures for me to step aside, that relief curdles to dread.

“So that’s it?” I ask, still filling the doorway and blocking her exit. “You’re just going to run away.”

We’re close enough now that I can see the way her throat bobs, but I’m too frustrated to stop. “This is what you did before, back in Wales. I left the room for five seconds and came back to find you gone.”

“That was different.”

“How?” I choke. “How was it different, Cass? It feels pretty similar to me.”

“We’ve already talked about that, it was a misunderstanding.”

“And what’s this?”

She crosses her arms across her chest. “I can’t talk about this right now.”

“Talk about what? You’re not exactly being very⁠—”