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Nothing.

No television. No Darcy. No Laney.

I head upstairs.

Her door is closed.

I stop outside it. Part of me wants to knock.

A bigger part wants to open the fucking thing and ask her what happened between laughing at the bar and disappearing into an Uber without saying goodbye.

I don’t do either.

She said she was tired.

She said she was fine.

Neither one felt true.

But she also said goodnight.

So I stand there like a stalker for another few seconds before forcing myself toward my room.

Darcy is sitting in the hallway watching me.

“Don’t.”

He blinks.

“I already know.”

Another blink.

“You’re a judgmental little asshole.”

His tail flicks once before he turns toward Laney’s closed door and paws at the wood.

Yeah. Me too.

“Come on, demon. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

He thinks about it for a second before following me into my room. And I leave my door cracked. Just in case he needs out.

Yeah, that’s the only reason.

Giving Laney space shouldn’t be this fucking hard.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DELANEY

By Sunday morning, Bishop has apparently decided to pretend nothing happened. Which is convenient, because I have, too. Mostly.

“You gonna tell me why you disappeared?”

Well, at least he waited until coffee before asking about me fleeing O’Shea’s like Jane Eyre fled Rochester.

I keep my attention on the hazelnut creamer curling through my mug. I honestly prefer the sound of the blender Bishop just shut off to the silence that follows while he waits for my answer.