Page 61 of His Fury

“I realized that after he left,” I admitted.

“Did it occur to you thathemight not be alone?”

Oh.

“No.” He must think I was stupid. It was such a sneaky thing for Julian to do to come when they weren’t there, but I hadn’t even considered that he wouldn’t be alone. “Zayn?—”

“I’ll call you later.”

Click. Just like that, he was gone.

“Well, that was a roaring success,” I grumbled.

Was Zayn McCabegoing quieta good thing? I knew it wasn’t.

“This sucks,” I told the empty kitchen. I moved like a ghost through the house—closing doors I hadn’t opened, rinsing a coffee cup I hadn’t used, and folding the throw blanket on a bed I hadn’t slept in.

My hands needed something to do. My mind was too full.

Zayn was angry, but I knew his anger was directed towards Julian. I also knew he was probably pissed off with me, and I wasn’t looking forward to the face-to-face conversation I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid.

I’d told him what he needed to know. I knew he was smart enough to know Julian would be heading his way, and that was worrying. But that was a conversation that needed to happen betweenthem.

By midnight, the silence in the house felt suffocating, and I couldn’t take it any longer. I climbed into bed wearing one of his shirts, ignoring the pajamas he’d ordered for me. Was I hoping he liked seeing me in his clothes and that it would make him less grumpy with me? Maybe. Was I ashamed I was using such an obvious distraction technique? Not one bit.

I left the bedside lamp on just in case. Not for comfort. For clarity. So I could see the second he walked through that door—if I didn’t fall asleep. Worry gnawed at me as I thought of what Jullian would say to him.Please, Lord, don’t let him say something stupid.

Sleep didn’t come easily. My thoughts spun and tangled, every moment of the day replaying on a loop. My words. His silence. Julian’s face. Zayn’s voice.

Eventually, exhaustion won.

I don’t know what time it was when I stirred—just that the room was darker, the air cooler, and that the other side of the bed was no longer empty.

Zayn was there.

Lying on his back with one arm behind his head and the other resting across his chest, he appeared like a man deep in thought. His breathing was steady, awake yet silent, his shirt collar undone and his pants still on.

My heart thudded as I turned to face him slowly. “Zayn?”

His eyes opened, glinting in the faint light from the hallway. “Go back to sleep, Isla.”

His voice wasn’t cold. But it wasn’t soft either.

I wanted to say something. Apologize again. Explain more. But something in his tone told me this wasn’t the best time. So I lay there perfectly still, the silence settling between us.

Until I couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “Did Julian come?”

He didn’t move or look at me as he spoke. “No.”

Idiot.

“Are you surprised?” Zayn’s tone was low. Mocking.

Yes. Wait, was I?

I sat up slowly, my heart thudding against my ribs. “I need to use the bathroom.” He said nothing as I slipped from the bed and made my way across the room. Once finished, I took the opportunity to fluff my hair up and stare at myself as I wondered why Julian hadn’t gone to him. They’d been friends for so long; his behavior didn’t make sense.

When I opened the door, Zayn turned his head to look at me, his eyes running over my body, his face impassive, but Iwas very,veryconscious of the fact that his T-shirt was brushing the tops of my thighs.

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