Ignite On Contact (Brotherhood by Fire #2) -Jaci Burton Page 0,81
for dinner with her and her grandfather. He’d politely turned her down, saying he had “things to do” that night. But when she’d gone out to the grocery store, his truck had been in the driveway. And it had stayed in the driveway the entire night.
She’d texted him the next day from work asking him if he was okay. He’d given her a three-word answer: I’m fine, thanks.
He hadn’t asked her how she was or in any way engaged her in conversation. Just that vague three-word answer. And then she hadn’t heard from him at all that day. He’d been on shift the next day, so she knew she wouldn’t hear from him, but she still texted him to see if everything was all right with him.
This time, no reply at all. She had often texted him when he was at the station, and he’d always replied to her.
So today she had the day off, and so did Rafe. And she intended to get to the bottom of whatever was going on with him.
“You’re sure staring a hole in the Donovans’ house.”
She pulled her attention away from the window and onto her grandfather, who sat at the kitchen table playing solitaire.
“I am not. I’m looking at the weeds I need to pull around the side of the house.”
Grandpa gave her the side-eye. “No, you’re not. You’re wondering why you haven’t seen your boyfriend in a few days.”
She pivoted and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “And how would you know that?”
“Because you’ve been moping, and because I haven’t seen that boy around here, and you haven’t gone over there. Simple deduction.”
“Okay, fine, Sherlock. There is something going on. He’s been quiet and withdrawn and isn’t answering my text messages.”
“Maybe he’s busy.”
“And maybe he’s ready to move on. Maybe he’s seeing someone else.”
Her grandfather shook his head. “Why does your mind go there first thing? You know Rafe is nothing like Tod.”
She didn’t know that. Okay, she did. But she couldn’t help but have those thoughts. Or maybe he was losing interest in her.
“You should go over there and talk to him.”
“I don’t know. If he wanted to talk to me, he’d call or text or come over. He obviously doesn’t want to see me.”
“It could be that something’s wrong and you need to go find out what it is.”
And get her heart broken? No, thanks. She turned back to the sink she’d been scrubbing before her mind had started to wander.
“Carmen.”
“What?”
“Go talk to him. You’ll drive yourself crazy until you get answers.”
She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Maybe.”
“Now.”
“Fine.” She rinsed the sink and dried her hands. “But only so we don’t have to keep talking about it.”
Grandpa was looking down at his cards. “Whatever you think is best.”
Oh, right. As if he hadn’t manipulated the entire conversation.
She went into her room, freshened up a bit, then headed out the front door, feeling ridiculous because her pulse was racing.
What was the worst thing that could happen? He’d slam the door in her face? She didn’t think Rafe would do that, but then again, who knew with men? They were entirely unpredictable, and often untrustworthy.
She sucked in a deep breath, released it, then rang the doorbell.
And waited.
No answer. Maybe he wasn’t home. His truck was there, but it was the only vehicle parked in the driveway. Maybe he’d gone somewhere with one of his brothers.
Finally, though, the door opened and Rafe stood there. He looked unkempt and awful, like he hadn’t slept in days.
“Oh. Hey, Carmen.”
“Rafe. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She waited for him to invite her in. He didn’t, which only irritated her more. But she was also concerned about the state of his appearance, so the caring side of her was having a deep war with the part of her that was very pissed off at him.
“Mind if I come in?” she finally asked.
“Sure.” He stepped aside and held the door for her.
She walked past him, waiting for him to shut the door. He raked his fingers through his hair. “I was playing a video game.”
As if that explained him completely ignoring her for days.
She followed him into the kitchen.
“Want something to drink?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Okay.”
He stood there, leaning against the kitchen island, as if he was waiting for her to do something or state her business.
So. Irritating.
“Rafe. You haven’t spoken a sentence to me in three days. You haven’t called or texted me. What’s going on?”
He looked down at his bare feet. “Nothing. I’m fine.”