I pump the gas as thoughts of Freya with Death plague me.
I climb in the car, and she doesn’t even look at me.
“You good?”
“Tired. Thinking about Death and his family. How terrible the whole situation must be.”
“Or just Death,” I mutter.
“What?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
The rest of the drive Freya stares out the passenger window, completely shut down and closed off.
Maybe she is worried about the kid. Maybe I’m making something out of nothing.
Seeing shit that isn’t there.
Whatever it is, I don’t like it.
I get Freya to work and shut off the car.
“I don’t want to leave things tense between us.” I grab her wrist before she opens the passenger door. “Babe, look at me.”
“What?” she swipes a tear from her cheek.
“Look at me.”
Her hazel eyes meet mine and the hurt I see etched on her gorgeous face makes me feel like a lousy shit.
“I’m sorry. Whatever I said or didn’t say.”
“You didn’t do anything. I told you. I’m sad for Death and his family.”
“Is that all it is? Or is there something more to it than that?”
“If there’s something you want to ask me then spit it out.” She jerks free from my hold, her temper flaring.
“We’re doing this now?”
“Yeah. Ask me.”
“You been fucking Death?”
Freya opens her mouth, but no words come out. She starts to speak then stops. Guilt coats her features as her brows knit together.
“All right. I see how it is. Are you still fucking Death?”
“No.”
“Jesus. He’s an old man.”
“He’s not that old.”
“Old enough to be your father. Fuck me.” I slap my palms on the steering wheel, wanting to tear it off the damn car and sling it out the window. “You fucked my VP.”
“I didn’t think…”