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I move to walk away.
“When do you think you will have any answers?” she asks, and I stop and turn over my shoulder.
“Soon.”
“Thank you, Tobias.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She raises her brow at my comment. “You don’t know what I’ll say.”
Her face pales.
Sometime the fear of the unknown is easier than learning the truth.
22
Skye
The sound of someone knocking on the door makes me jump. I’m not expecting anyone.
It’s the weekend—Saturday night, to be exact—and I have no plans.
A part of me thinks it’s someone knocking on the wrong door, and if I stay really quiet, they will eventually go away.
Another part, the rational part, is worried about who can be coming to my door at this time of night.
In the past, if someone is at my door, it’s never a good thing. It’s usually a courier with work from my boss. A case I need to look over before Monday morning.
Reluctantly, I stand and make my way to answer it. Can’t hide in the dark forever. When I swing the door open, I’m taken aback by who’s here.
It’s Tobias.
Tall.
Dark.
And standing ominously in my hallway.
What the hell is he doing here?
If he’s here to yell at me again . . .
No.
It’s been radio silence from him since Thursday when he yelled at me in the street.
That’s not it. He’s not here for round two. There’s something else, another reason for his impromptu visit.
My back goes ramrod straight when I take him in. Lord, if I thought he looked good at the office, it has nothing on his weekend apparel. He’s wearing jeans, a white thermal, and sneakers.
He looks so normal at first glance, but when my gaze trails up, it feels like there is a rope around my heart, and it’s tightening to the point of pain.
His eyes look dark today. Not the usual blue I’m used to. No, today, the blacks of his pupils are larger than normal.
But that’s not all. His jaw is set in a hard line.
Something is wrong.
Continuing my assessment, I see that he’s holding something.
A bottle of whiskey.
Shit.
Something is very wrong.
“Tobias?” My voice is low. Unsure. Asking him with one word to tell me why he’s here and praying I’m overthinking this.
“Can I come in?” Even his voice sounds different. Typically, it’s strong and commanding, but tonight, it’s softer and filled with sympathy.
“I guess,” I mumble, trying not to jump to conclusions.
Moving back, I quickly scan the small living room. Luckily, it’s not a mess, although my sweatshirt is on the loveseat, which reminds me—I look down and remember that I’m wearing a white camisole, my nipples clearly visible under it. Great. Just great.
When I look up to see if Tobias noticed, I see that he’s not even looking at me. He seems to be lost in thought.
“Tobias?”
“Yeah . . .”
Everything about Tobias is off tonight. He’s lost in his thoughts as I lead him farther into my little apartment.
“You’re actually scaring me a little. Why are you here?” I ask while crossing my arms in front of me. “Why are you here?” I say again, more forcefully.
“I need to talk to you, but I think maybe—”
“Spit it out!” My voice echoes through the small apartment, bouncing off the walls. If I weren’t so nervous and angry, I might care that I shouldn’t be screaming when my walls are paper-thin, but I can’t find it in me to care when I need to know why he’s here.
“I found out what the paper was.”
“And?” I croak as my heart starts to thump radically in my chest. Time stands still as he moves closer to me. It feels like my heart might burst open.
“Please just tell me, Tobias.”
“Your dad’s sick, Skye.”
“Sick, how sick? He was just at the doctor’s. He said it was routine. He said he’d be fine.”
“He lied, Skye.”
“How sick?” My right hand cups my left wrist as I try to calm myself. “Please tell me.”
He takes my hand in his, and then his finger is on the pulse. The pulse under my tattoo.
It feels like I’m breaking apart, but with his fingers on my tattoo, I breathe.
“Your father has stage four liver failure. He’s terminal.”
Despite how strong I am, I can’t hold back the sob that tears through my lungs.
My knees drop from beneath me, my body plunging into an abyss.
Falling.
Falling.
But I never crash.
I’m cradled in his arms.
Pulled tight to him.
His arms are around me, holding me tightly. “Shh,” he coos, or at least, that’s what I think he says.
It sounds like jumbled words spoken underwater. I can’t make them out beneath the sound of my sobs. Before I know what’s happening, I’m being lifted and carried to the couch.
Then Tobias is sitting and placing me on his lap. The small rational part of me knows this isn’t right. He shouldn’t be holding me. I shouldn’t let him, but it feels like I have been ripped in two. I’m bleeding out all over my rug, and without him, I would surely die.
