Page 85 of Ice Darling
At that moment, Renthrow’s phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and checks the screen. It’s his mom calling, but before he can answer, his mom hangs up.
“I should call back and see what’s wrong,” Renthrow says, his brows knitted as if he’s already thinking of the worst.
I squeeze his arm. “Go.”
While Renthrow’s gone, Brennon looks over at me. “So…”
“So…”
He nods to Renthrow’s retreating back. “Are you two together?”
“We’re…” I contemplate how to answer that question. Then I realize who I’m talking to. “Why is that any of your business?”
“Dee-Dee, I care about you.”
“It’s a little difficult to believe that. We haven’t talked to each other inyears.”
“I reached out after the funeral. You’re the one who didn’t respond.”
The words hit my chest and leave burning cuts. “A lot of people were reaching out after the funeral, Brennon. And just like you, a lot of them stopped at one message too.”
Brennon opens his mouth to answer, but the waiter comes back with my wine.
I gulp it down, hoping to calm my nerves.
“Cordelia”—Brennon’s voice shakes slightly—“I know how I handled things between us back then wasn’t the best.”
“What do you mean?”
“The day you said you were in love with me.”
I stiffen. “That was ages ago.”
“I’ve never forgotten it.” He pauses. “The thing is, Delia, I’ve been thinking a lot about my life and about the next stage: a wife, a family, and everything that comes with that, and I?—”
Urgent footsteps patter to the table. Renthrow stops in front of me, his chest heaving.
I grip the back of my chair, alert. “What’s wrong?”
“Gordie and my mom aren’t answering the phone. I can’t get through to either of them.”
“Go.”
He nods and stalks off without acknowledging Brennon or the waiter who’s on the way back to our table to get our food orders.
I sink back into my seat. Worriedly, I dig my fingers into the cloth napkin. Is Gordie having another episode? Or is it something else? Did his mom get hurt? Is the house on fire?
I’m deep in my thoughts that I don’t realize Renthrow is stomping back to the table until he storms into view. When I glance up, I gasp. His eyebrows are two thick slashes over his hazel eyes, and his jaw is set like granite.
“Did you forget something?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He reaches for me and links our fingers together. “You.”
I barely have time to grab my purse before he yanks me out of my chair and charges with me to the exit.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Renthrow
