Page 40 of His Fury

Rye grimaced. “Yeah, well, your boyfriend thought you might like fresh clothes.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“He has someone who does it fast, apparently.”

I stared at Rye, my mind not understanding what he was saying. “He ordered me clothes?”

This time, I definitely saw a smirk. “You planning on wearing the same shit every day you’re here?” Rye asked, gesturing up and down my body. When I shook my head, he gave a slight shrug. “Zayn thought that too, so he ordered you clothes.”

“I have clothes.”

“You don’t have clotheshere,” Rye said patiently, glancing at his watch. “You will in approximately twenty-seven minutes.”

“Twenty-seven minutes is very precise for an approximation,” I mumbled.

He made a quiet noise in the back of his throat—somewhere between a laugh and a grunt—and joined me on the couch.

Rye leaned back and studied me. “You’re in his house. Zayn’s not the type to let you wear the same hoodie for three days straight even when itishis.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Wait—you knew I was wearing your hoodie?”

His face finally broke into a grin. “It smelled like my laundry detergent. Didn’t take a genius.”

“Oh my god.” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “This is what rock bottom feels like.”

“It’s not rock bottom. You’ve got coffee, clean clothes, and nobody’s trying to kidnap you today. I’d call that a win.”

I peeked at him through my fingers, his words toosobering to pretend the impact didn’t land heavy. “Do you ever get used to it?”

Rye’s expression was casually blank. “Used to what?”

“All of it.” I gestured vaguely around the space. “This? With its security, and the silence, and the danger that just sort of…lives underneath everything.”

He was quiet for a second. Then he said, “You don’t get used to it. But you’ll learn when to pay attention and when to breathe through it.” He saw my look. “Ignore it,” he explained.

I nodded slowly, letting that sink in.Would I?

“Zayn breathes through it?” I asked softly.

Rye looked at me like he wasn’t sure if he should answer. He broke the stare. “When it’s about you? No. I don’t think he can.”

My throat went tight, but I nodded. I didn’t know what to say to that.

“I can’t figure that bit out,” he admitted as he watched me.

“Figure what out?”

“How long you’ve been this distraction to him?” He looked me over. “I think there’s more history than I know. Am I right?”

I was already shaking my head in denial. “My history with Zayn is limited. We weren’t buddies.”

“Made up for that now, haven’t you?” he asked slyly.

I stood up off the couch, putting distance between us. I looked over at him. “You think this is a mistake?”

He held my gaze for a moment, then looked away, taking another slow sip of his coffee before answering. “Doesn’t matter what I think.”

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “That’s not what I asked.”

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