““Fuck off, Pike. I’m busy.”
I wet my lips. “It’s Cela.”
There was silence on the other side for a long few seconds. I started to wonder if he’d heard me, but then the door opened.
Foster stood there, clean shaven and put together on the surface, but when I met his eyes I saw the hollowness there. “What are you doing here?”
His tone was flat, and I had to swallow past the anxiety of barging in on him while he was going through all of this. Maybe I was overstepping, maybe our relationship was more of a fun, sexy thing, and I wasn’t welcome into his world for the big things like grief and tragedy and loss. Insecurity made me want to shrink back, but I pressed on, clearing my throat. “I wanted to . . .”
“Say you’re sorry? Offer your condolences?”
The words were sharp and his grip tight on the door, but I recognized this mode.
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