I gather up our breakfast and set the serving plates on the table.
It’s quiet as we enjoy our first bites of food. A hum of awkwardness extends between us initially, but I ignore it. I refuse to backslide on all the progress we’re making as a group.
I take a long swig of coffee, then lower my mug and clear my throat. “It snowed quite a bit last night,” I tell them. “Eight inches at least. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this much snow in mid-November.”
I shake my head, but I keep my grumblings about global warming to myself.
“It usually takes the plows several hours to get out this way, so for now, I suggest we all stay put.”
I look at each one of them, giving them the opportunity to object.
Merce meets my gaze, wariness in his eyes. But he doesn’t argue, and Sawyer and Tytus don’t say anything either, so I continue.
“We’ll plan to head back to campus this afternoon, before it gets dark.” Heart rate climbing, I sit straighter, arms spread wide as I grip the table. “In the meantime, while we’re all together like this, I’ve got some questions I’d like to put out there.”
Sawyer’s eyebrows fly up. Tytus’s jaw ticks in what I assume is agitation. The reaction was nearly imperceptible. He’s excellent at burying his emotions, but I’m starting to learn his tells. I’m determined to figure him out.
Merce leans forward, the eagerness in his posture warring with the anxiety rolling off him.
He and I haven’t discussed this. It’s not an us-against-them situation.
This is all me.
But I intend to get answers for all our sakes.
“You two share a history.”
Arms crossed over my chest, I zero in on my woman and then the man who’s suffered and also caused a shit ton of suffering over the last few months.
“You’re also dysfunctional as hell and clearly codependent.”
If I didn’t have their attention before, I certainly do now. No one moves. Forks are held aloft and the food is growing cold.
“I get that you’ve known each other most of your lives. That whatever romantic connection you share is somehow stained by your past. I was okay leaving well enough alone. Figured the pastwas none of my business. But last night? When we got into the truck?”
Sawyer’s cheeks pink at the reminder. Mercer curses under his breath.
Yeah. I’m going there.
If making everyone temporarily uncomfortable is what it takes to work through shit, then we’ll all have to suffer through it.
Tytus shifts his chair back a few inches, his focus fixed on the table, though when he senses my stare, he meets my gaze and holds it, like he’s sizing me up and considering his next move.
“Last night, a car backfired,” I say, keeping my attention on him. “You both panicked.Reallypanicked. Your reactions were so intense, I thought I’d have to take you to the hospital.”
I eye Mercer, who looks like he’s holding his breath. Then I focus on Sawyer, wishing more than anything I could pull her into my lap and hold her through this. But I can’t.
We have to face this. Individually and as a unit, we have to at least try to hurdle over the trauma, pain, and resentment festering between us.
Neither Tytus nor Sawyer offers an explanation. If anything, they’re more clammed up, more guarded than they were when they thought I was going to bring up last night’s exploits.
“Fuck.” I drop my head and pinch the bridge of my nose. If they’re not going to speak up, then I’ll have to push it. This is the only way through this. So, focused on Tytus, I ask point-blank, “What the fuck happened to make you two think any of this is normal or okay?”
Chapter thirty-two
Sawyer
Noah’s charged question is followed by a sinister silence.
