Page 92 of His Fury

“I wonder why,” I said, crossing my arms and wondering whether I should let Zayn know he was here. I had left my phone on the kitchen counter, and I hated that I regretted the oversight while standing in front of mybest friend. “What do you want, Julian?”

He turned to me, jaw tight. “I want to fix it.”

I blinked. “Fix what?”

He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it all messy and sticking up in every direction, which kind of epitomized the state he was in. “Everything. The debt. You. Zayn. All of it.”

I stared at him. “I thought Zayn fixed it?” I spoke hesitantly. “The debt?”

“He paid it, yeah.”

“Then it’s no longer yours to fix.” A sense of trepidation washed over me. “Unless there’s something more?”

Julian shook his head. “No, I haven’t played since.”

“Okay.”

We stood in the hall like two strangers who had just met, abandoned by their partners, not knowing what to say to each other.

“Um...” I hesitated. “Wine?”

Julian smiled briefly. “Sure, I’d like that.”

He followed me to the kitchen, and I quickly tidied my makeshift workstation. “Just a minute,” I mumbled as I stacked my work notes into a pile.

“I know where everything is, Isla,” Julian said softly.

I stalled. “Right.” Of course, he did. He designed the house. “Um, well, go ahead, I guess.”

I watched him grab a glass and pour himself some of the Chablis I was drinking. He took the breakfast stool across from me and mock-clinked before drinking his wine deeply.

“Nice,” he murmured with appreciation. “Light.”

“Yeah,” I replied, feeling very uncomfortable with what was happening. “Not heavy at all.”

The silence descended upon us once more as I shifted on my stool. It had felt comfortable while I was working; now, however, I sensed it digging into my backside. I wanted to get up, but I didn’t know where else to go.

I didn’t know how to sit with my best friend anymore.

I despised this feeling.

“What brings you here this evening?” I asked, wincing at the formality of my tone.

Jullian stared at me in disbelief. “Jesus, Isla. Have we gotten this bad?”

I agreed with him. “I don’t know how to do this,” Iconfessed softly. “You’re…Julian. Yet, you feel like a stranger.”

I saw the pain in his eyes as I spoke. He looked away. “Yeah, I guess I deserve that.” He inhaled deeply. “I need to fix this. Us.”

“Then fix us.” It sounded so simple, yet I knew it wasn’t. I also feared it was unfixable. The trust was just…gone.

“I don’t know if I can,” he confessed, glancing at his hands. “I see the way you look at me, and I know I fucked up. I messed up so badly.” He picked up his wineglass and downed the last of his drink.

My eyebrows rose at his action, and I felt that stir of unease again. “What’s happened?” I asked, bracing myself for the worst. “Something’s happened. Hasn’t it?”

“Isla…”

“I’ve known you most of my life, Julian Turner, don’t youIslame.”

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