Page 53 of Wait for Him

Michael isn't arguing.

He isn't telling anyone to go fuck themselves. He isn't defending what he said or doubling down on it, which would at least be familiar territory. He isn't even looking at us.

He's sitting perfectly still with this glossed-over look in his eyes, staring somewhere past the conference table, past the windows, past all of us.

And just like that, I'm not angry anymore.

Because I know that look.

I haven't seen it in a very, very long time.

Never wanted to see it again.

“Bennet.”

Nothing.

My stomach drops.

"Bennet," I say, louder, with a bit more bite.

His head snaps up.

The room starts to quiet as he looks around at all of us, blinking once like he's only just realized we're here. Every furious face around the table is turned toward him, waiting for an explanation, which he doesn’t give.

“Please excuse me for a moment.”

His voice is perfectly calm.

He stands, buttons his jacket like his body is still in the room while the rest of him has gone somewhere else entirely, then walks out.

Nobody says a fucking word.

I look at Jackson.

He's wearing the exact same what the fuck just happened expression I can feel on my own face, but the second our eyes meet, his changes.

He knows.

Not what happened. Neither of us knows that.

He knows what I need.

I don't have to ask him to go after Michael. Don't have to explain that if I follow right now, Michael will see his big sister coming and immediately start trying to convince me he's fine. Don't have to say any of it.

I just look at Jackson.

He gives me one nod.

Then he's out the door after my brother.

Marcus: I'll be at your house by 5:30. Leave the door unlocked and let security know to let me in.

Stacy: Ok. See you soon.

I set my phone on my desk and lean my head back against the chair.

It's been a shit show of a day, even by the standards of a Monday, and Mondays already owe me money.