Page 86 of Full Out Fiend

This is what I’m capable of. And now that I know the full story, it’s my job to make sure something like this never fucking happens again.

I hurriedly wrap up the call with my brother. There’s someone else I still need to talk to tonight.

Chapter 46

Daphne

I’monlyhalfawakeas I pad into the kitchen for water. The baby only wants it cold these days, so I’ve resorted to coming out here in the middle of the night to fill my bottle with fresh ice.

Fielding offered to put a mini fridge in our room, but that’s a bit extreme. It’s not like I’m not up half a dozen times to pee anyway.

I halt in my tracks when a shadow moves in front of me. Within seconds, I realize it’s just him.

“Hey, you,” I whisper through the dark so I don’t startle him.

Despite my effort, he jolts when he sees me.

“What are you doing up?” he demands, his voice scratchy and raw. Bizarrely, he doesn’t wait for my response before he snatches his jacket off the back of a barstool, and—slides it on?

The clock on the microwave behind him confirms that it’s almost one. If he’s just getting in, then why is he putting a coat on?

“I just needed a refill,” I explain through a yawn, lifting my empty water bottle for emphasis. I set the bottle on the counter, then make my way over to him and lean in for a hug.

His entire body stiffens on contact.

“Hey—what’s wrong?”

“Go back to bed, Daphne. I can’t do this right now.”

Panic swirls in my chest as I realize his arms are slack at his sides. He manages to pull out of the hug and turn back to the bar to grab for his keys.

“Are you leaving?”

“There’s something I have to do.”

“What’s going on? Are you—”

“Just leave it,” he snaps. “You shouldn’t be up. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?” I volley back defensively as I take a step away from him.

His eyes dart around in the dark, focusing everywhere but on me. He looks harried, almost desperate. He very clearly doesn’t want to be here or answer me right now.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he huffs out unconvincingly. “There’s just something I need to do.”

I chew on my bottom lip as my insecurities churn in my gut. I reach for him again, only to have him recoil, all but stumbling over himself to avoid my touch.

“Fielding—” I implore.

He looks out the window, toward the garage door, then finally—finally—back at me. When our eyes meet, I barely recognize the man staring at me.

“Did I do something wrong?” I whisper. In all our time together, we’ve never had a fight. Sure, we’ve disagreed, but we always talked it out and worked through our issues by being open and honest.

But the way he’s looking at me right now—like he desperately wants to be anywhere but here—makes me question every layer of trust I’ve allowed to build between us.

“No.” He sighs before impatiently running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong, angel. It’s not you. It’s me.”

His words should be reassuring. They should comfort me in some way.