Turning for the door, I stride out with far more determination than I truly feel. But then Conrad says, “You just have to ask yourself one question.”
I stop in the doorway, turning back with raise brows. “What’s that?”
“Does any of this change how you feel about her?”
My eyes close involuntarily at the question. I inhale sharply through my nose then release the breath slowly. When I open my eyes, I’m met with a rather self-satisfied looking Conrad.
With a final glare, I slam out of the room with far more annoyance than I truly feel.
22
SURRENDER
REN
The place isdark when I return.
Which is odd considering it’s not that late, and Cassidy usually leaves some lights on for me.
I pull into the garage slowly, parking my SUV then watching the bay door close in the rearview mirror. Exhausted, I force myself to exit the vehicle, shutting the door gently as a shadow in front of the door to the house gives me pause.
Slowly, I move closer, pulling my cell phone from my pocket and turning the flashlight on, revealing Cassidy curled up beneath my jacket. She’s peaceful in slumber, but I note the dried tears on her cheeks, the way she clutches my jacket to her.
Giving up any semblance of being truly angry, I squat next to her, nudging her gently in the hopes I don’t scare her.
Her eyes flutter open, her brow furrowing slightly as she focuses on my face. A breath rushes out of her on a quiet sob, her hands clutching my jacket to her chest.
“Cassidy,” I murmur, my hands brushing the hair from her face. “What are you doing out here?”
She blinks up at me a few times, sniffles. “You came back.”
I frown, pulling my jacket from her grip and placing it back on the rail. Then I take her phone from her hand, shove it in the back pocket of my jeans. “Didn’t you get my text?”
She nods, but says nothing so I add, “I said I’d be back soon,” as if that statement alone should’ve reassured her enough to go about her night as normal. As if there was anything normal about our earlier conflict.
She nods again, but she looks so fucking sad I’m uncertain what I should do now. Obviously, I have plenty of things to say to her, but at this moment, none of it seems important.
“Fuck it,” I mutter mostly to myself, my hands already pulling her away from the door, my arms scooping her into me before she can react. At first she’s tense, but within seconds she falls into me, her hands still tucked to her chest, her face pressed against my neck as I wrap my arms tightly around her.
Her body vibrates against me, either from emotion or cold—maybe both. Wanting to get her out of the cold, I pull her up as I stand. Holding her close, I open the door then maneuver her into the hallway before closing the door to the garage, and locking it. Then I turn back to her, where she’s waiting with the same forlorn expression on her face.
Scooping her up, I cradle her in my arms, smiling at the squeak of surprise that falls from her lips when I jerk her off her feet. She struggles a bit, but I jostle her around until she stops wiggling and settles against me with a sigh.
“I can walk,” she whispers, her hand curved around my neck, her breath hot on my skin.
“I don’t care.”
I heft her up higher on my chest, grateful for all the endurance drills and weightlifting hockey has shoved down my throat over the years. I trudge up the stairs, relieved there’s onlythe one flight for fear I’d embarrass myself if I had to carry her much farther than our bedroom.
Still, I make it to the side of the bed where I slowly lower her to her feet. She stands easily enough, her arms wrapping around my waist, her cheek pressed against my pectoral right over my heart.
I rub my palms along her back, enjoying the feel of her pressed into me, her arms squeezing, her familiar scent surrounding me. Eventually, knowing it’s getting late, I loosen my hold, and she does the same, but we linger like that, taking an extra few moments to soak in the warmth of each other.
“Cass,” I murmur, leaning back and waiting for her to look at me. “I don’t know what’s going on with you. I won’t pretend to understand or fill you full of flowery bullshit because I’m just not programmed for that kind of fake nonsense.”
She’s watching me, her expression guarded, so I take her hand in both of mine and give her a moment to settle before continuing, “But I want you to know one thing.”
She frowns slightly, stares at me expectantly as she waits for me to continue, so I ask, just to be sure, “Are you listening to me?”
