Chapter 26 #2
Of course moving on would feel impossible. It makes sense why he’d struggle and panic after what happened between us.
But understanding it doesn’t stop it from pinching my chest.
Despite how awkward things have been since the trip, and telling myself a hundred times that I’m over it, I still find myself thinking about him.
Because some stupid part of me still remembers what it felt like to be in his arms. I craved it, hoping it would happen again.
The coffee machine beeps.
I fold the note and slide it back into the drawer. Then I grab the mugs, the pen, and a notepad.
When I step back outside, the sun is still shining. Henson is talking, and Griffin is still under the hood of my car.
Everything looks exactly the same, but now my mood has soured.
I set the mugs down on the toolbox and hand Henson the notepad and pen. “Your ancient writing tools, sire.”
Henson takes them with a grin. “Much appreciated, m’lady.”
Griffin reaches for his coffee and I can feel his stare on me, which immediately makes me uncomfortable because now I’m wondering if I look guilty.
If he somehow knows I found the note and can see the disappointment sitting in my chest.
I avoid his gaze and focus on Henson instead. “Anything else?”
Henson’s smile fades. “You okay?”
Damn it.
“I’m fine.”
His brows pull together. “You sure?”
I force a smile. “Yep.”
It’s apparently convincing enough for Henson. Unfortunately, Griffin is still watching me; he has spent enough time around me to know when I’m lying.
“Anyway.” I clear my throat. “Holler if you need me.”
“Tiana—”
I don’t wait to hear the rest. I turn around and head back toward the house before either of them can stop me.
The rest of the afternoon passes without much fanfare.
Henson packs up his tools and heads home. Griffin gets my car running again, after replacing whatever mysterious part had apparently been draining the battery, and I thank him for spending half his day fixing a problem that wasn’t his responsibility. The exchange is polite and brief.
After that, I retreat to my room and stay there, because I don’t trust myself to be around him.
Every time I think about the note I found in the kitchen drawer, my chest tightens all over again.
By the time Sylas comes home from his sleepover, I’ve managed to convince myself that I’m being ridiculous.
The house immediately fills with noise and questions and six-year-old energy. Before I know it, I’m helping him unpack his school bag, getting dinner started, and listening to an animated retelling of the sleepover.
The evening unfolds the way most evenings do.
Eventually, Sylas falls asleep and the house grows quiet again.
I curl up in bed with my laptop, finishing the last few episodes of a hockey show I’ve been binge-watching. When the final credits roll, I glance at the clock and realize it’s nearly eleven.
My eyes burn from staring at the screen, my neck is stiff, and I’m thirsty.
With a groan, I drag myself out of bed and make my way downstairs in an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts.
The house is dark except for the soft glow above the stove. Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaks. I head straight for the fridge, grab a bottle of water, and twist off the cap.
The cold water barely touches my lips when I hear footsteps behind me.
I turn around, and immediately collide with a very solid chest.
Water sloshes out of the bottle.
“Shit.”
Strong hands catch my elbows before I can stumble backward. “Sorry.”
For one humiliating second, my brain completely forgets how words work when I look up. Griffin is standing less than a foot away, his expression unreadable.
“What happened earlier today? You ran away,” he says.
“I did not.”
His eyebrow lifts, his hands still wrapped around my arms. His gaze searches my face.
“You were fine one moment, then you weren’t.”
I swallow.
“I’m still fine,” I lie.
“What happened?” he repeats anyway.
“You know, most people would let this go.”
“I’m not most people.”
No, he’s definitely not. If he were most people, I wouldn’t still be standing here thinking about him.
I take a step backward, forcing a little space between us.
“It’s nothing, Griffin.”
The lie hangs between us—neither of us believes it, though we both seem unwilling to push further.
Then I get a text. I ignore it.
Another notification comes in.
I pull it out and silence it without looking at it.
Griffin glances at my hand. “Popular tonight?”
“Not even a little.”
The phone buzzes.
This time Griffin’s amusement disappears, replaced by something more attentive or curious.
“You should probably check that.”
“I really don’t want to.”
“You sure? Seems important.”
I let out a breath and unlock the screen. The second I see Markell’s name, my stomach drops.
I lock the phone again.
“What’s wrong?” Griffin asks, watching my expression.
“Nothing.”
It’s a weak answer, and we both know it.
The phone vibrates again in my hand.
For God’s sake.
I stare at it for a moment, wishing it would magically disappear.
“Tiana.”
The way Griffin says my name tells me he’s not going to let this go either.
I rub my forehead. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Then why do you look upset?”
I open my mouth, then close it again. I don’t actually have a good answer.
Another buzz sounds from my phone.
Griffin folds his arms across his chest and waits. The man can be unbelievably stubborn when he wants to be.
With a groan, I glance at the latest message. “It’s Markell.”
The air in the kitchen thickens. Griffin’s jaw locks.
“How long has he been texting you?”
I grimace.
“On and off since last night.”
I look back down at my screen.
Markell
Can we please talk?
I know you’re ignoring me, but I’m trying here.
Just give me five minutes, Sunshine…
More messages along those lines. When I look up again, Griffin is still watching me.
“Please don’t make a big deal out of this.”
The look in his eyes could kill, but he doesn’t say a word.
“Please? I’m fine. I just want to go to bed.”
Griffin’s jaw flexes but he doesn’t argue. “Night. Get some rest.”
“Night,” I murmur, turning toward the hallway.
Upstairs, after getting ready for bed and changing into pajamas, I slide beneath the covers and open my Instagram messages with @built2last and stare at the empty text field. Chewing on my lip, I type: I think I need my favourite internet stranger tonight.