It’s the kind of morning that feels deceptively calm. I’m halfway through getting dressed after a quick shower, still toweling off my hair when the sudden, heavy pounding on the door makes me freeze.
Three hard knocks.
Then three more when no one gets up to get it.
Through the slightly open adjoining door, I spot Dean sitting on the edge of the couch.
His head snaps up instantly at the sound, eyes cutting to mine as he shuts his laptop.
The look we exchange is brief and he’s already on his feet before I can say a word.
The fist hits the door again, louder this time, the rhythm is unrelenting and aggressive.
My gut tightens.
Whoever it is isn’t here for a friendly visit.
Jared,is the first thought my mind supplies.
Grant steps out from the bathroom, a towel draped over his shoulder, the shower still running behind him. His brow furrows as he glances between us. “What the hell is that?”
“Don’t know,” Dean mumbles under his breath and moves toward the door, his posture tense and ready.
I keep my towel knotted around my waist and move a few feet closer, every instinct buzzing.
Dean unlocks the deadbolt. “Alright, alright, Jesus.”
Richard barrels into the suite.
He’s not even wearing his coat, just a heavy flannel jacket and a pair of jeans, his boots still caked in half-melted snow that leaves a trail of water following after him.
His hair’s disheveled, his face red from the cold and from the anger surging through him.
None of us get a chance to react before he explodes.
“What the hell did you do?” his voice booms in the small space.
Dean straightens instinctively, putting himself between Richard and the rest of us. “What’s going on, man? What happened?”
“Don’t,” Richard snaps, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t you dare try to talk your way out of this.”
Grant and I exchange a glance, both of us completely taken aback. Richard’s never looked like this.
Hell, he’s never acted like this in the decades we’ve known him.
He’s always been level-headed, able to go into dire situations with a clear mind and a plan.
Now it’s like all sense has completely left him. What the hell happened between yesterday when we last saw him and this morning?
“You think I wouldn’t find out?” he growls, eyes flicking between Dean, me, and Grant.
Suddenly, my mind supplies the worst scenario it possibly can: he knows.
Not the rumors, not the whispers.
He knows.
Dean’s jaw tightens, the muscle twitching near his temple.
