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“I’m not exactly jumping for fucking joy,” Mollie replies, her tone with him completely different to how she spoke to me only moments ago. “Move.”
The way Travis’ smile slowly stretches across his face, makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand tall. It’s frightening.
“Move, Travis,” Dean says.
Travis lets out a sarcastic laugh without looking at him. “Not a fucking chance.”
Mollie tuts, then steps around him. “You’re a fucking child, you know that?”
As she leaves, Travis tilts his neck to the ceiling, his neck audibly cracking, but he looks like he thinks he won that little standoff between them.
There’s silence between the three of us as the main doors close shut behind Mollie.
“Anyone going to tell me what’s going on here?” I ask.
Dean shifts on his heels. Travis doesn’t move.
I look between the two of them. “Nothing?” I question with a sarcastic laugh. My eyes flit back and forth one more time. “Fine.” I let go of Dean’s hand when they offer me no explanation, and storm off to the room, alone.
Chapter Thirteen
MADISON
Lying flat on the bed, a small knock comes from the door a few minutes later. I hear Dean try the door handle, but I locked it.
He sighs on the other side of the wood, then he knocks again. “Let me in, babe.”
I don’t move. Needing to catch my thoughts, I turn to my side, positioning myself to a more comfortable position. I think back to what Vivian said earlier, about how it’s not just me I need to think about now. My hand cups my bump.
Do I really want to know what’s going on? Clearly it’s something. And clearly, it’s important. But how important? Important enough for Dean to feel like he needs to shut me out.
“Please, babe. Let me in.”
I still don’t move. I get it, I really do—not wanting to stress me out—but I don’t know if the lack of knowing is helping or adding to how I feel.
When he knocks again, I sit up. “We need to talk,” he says, and I smile with a sigh.
My head drops to my chest before I push myself off the bed and walk slowly to the door. My fingers raise to the lock when I reach it. “You’ll tell me what’s going on?” I ask him.
“Some of it,” he replies.
My fingers stop. I stay silent, dropping my hand to my side.
“Mads?” he questions. I can feel the emotions brimming. This is exhausting. He knows what I want. “Mads, let me in.” He’s getting more worked up.
I control the wobble of my bottom lip. “Tell me.”
I can picture him shaking his head, the line across his brow, probably prominent. “Just let me in.”
“Promise me you’ll tell me first.”
There’s a light thud, and I know he’s resting his head against the door. “I don’t know if I can.”
I let out a sigh. “I have questions.”
There’s another pause. “I’ll give you five if you open the door right now, because I really want to get my hands on you.”
“Five questions?”
