His mask immediately went back up, and I could tell that I'd hit a nerve. I'd heard him mention Asher Graves multiple times, watched the anguish that crossed his face when he was saving Storie and vowing not to let another Graves die on him. He was clearly still holding a torch for her, and his reaction was only confirmation of that.
I ignored the thorns of jealousy stinging my chest over a dead woman who was twenty years older than me.
Those stone-gray eyes lazily swung over to me, and he slowly explained, “It wasn't my place to burden them. They needed me here more. And I have a family here.”
Of course, I knew the Abbots. He had a sister who had to have at least five young kids by now, and as I now knew, his mother wasn't doing very well health-wise. Regardless, I didn't doubt they would have gotten by without him. That was a flimsy excuse. But my life was made on a foundation of flimsy excuses that were just masking the fact that I was controlled by Grammy and constantly seeking her approval.
“I would have left.”
“You still could,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, and Grammy would hunt me down with the hounds of hell.” I huffed out a humorless laugh.
Kyle chuckled a bit, but quickly stopped to level me with the same intense stare he had earlier.
“Seriously, Blaire. Don't let her or anyone else hold you back. You don't want to be sitting on a porch twenty years from now and thinking back on all the what-ifs.”
“Is that what you're doing now?”
“No. Right now, I'm thinking about what I have to eat in my pantry.”
I laughed a little too loudly, and he shushed me, glancing around to make sure no one was watching us. “I already know my pantry is bare.”
“Come inside. I'll make you something.”