“I need to talk to you,” he says quietly. He looks angry. His deep blue eyes pierce me in accusation, and his fingers are digging into my skin. He rarely shows this kind of emotion—and he’s letting me see it on purpose. He knows. He knows I’ve been keeping her problems a secret, and he probably gathered that they stemmed from a traumatic event. I don’t want to talk about her issues with him. “Maybe later,” I say, stepping out of his hold. “Ryke, this is serious.” “You don’t think I fucking know that?”
i love how much they care
