Still nothing.
“You could’ve told me,” I add more quietly.
That finally gets his attention. He looks at me properly for the first time since I walked in.
“Why?” He asks. “Would you come if I did?”
I frown at him.
“Of course I would have,” I say automatically. “I was actually worried about you.”
His gaze stays on me longer than I expect.
“You were?” he says softly. “That’s good to hear. I needed to hear that.”
Something about the way he says it makes my stomach flip in a way I don’t want to examine too closely.
I run a hand through my hair because this entire situation is confusing and uncomfortable and he is still refusing to explain anything.
“What’s going on,” I ask again. “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong.”
He studies me like he’s weighing something serious in his head b
