There is a long moment of silence, and even in my drunken state, I can tell he’s contemplating something.
Lifting my hand, I reach for his. “You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone.”
For some reason, I feel that whatever he is hiding is the primary reason for his rage. It’s the reason for his lack of control.
His expression changes, and he takes a step back. Our connection snaps, and all that’s left is a vacant spot in front of me.
“Go to sleep, Aspen. I think you’ve shared enough with me for the night, and I’m not in the mood to share anything with you. We aren’t friends. We aren’t even acquaintances. We’re enemies, and nothing that ever happens in this room will change that.”
His words cut me deep but don’t surprise me. He would never admit to me if I meant something to him, just like I would never admit if I was falling for him.
“Good night, Q,” I whisper, unwilling to touch what he’s just said.
Clenching his jaw tightly, he storms out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him. With the wine circulating through my veins still, I let my heavy lids fall closed. Sleep invades the edges of my mind, but even as I drift to sleep, the question at the back of my mind still lingers.What happened to his sister?