Hope
I stand in front of Keith’s door, heart pounding so loud I’m certain it echoes down the hallway. For a full minute, I just stare at the wood grain, biting the inside of my cheek, trying to convince myself to raise my hand and knock. It’s been a day since I’ve seen him—twenty-four hours of silence, of cold distance, of regretting every word I never said.
I ball my hand into a fist and knock twice before I can talk myself out of it.
Nothing.
I shift from foot to foot. Maybe he’s not here. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe he doesn’t want to see me. Hell, why would he?
After how much I denied our bond I’d be surprised if he never wanted to see me again.
Just as I’m about to turn and leave, the door creaks open.
Keith stands there, one hand on the knob, eyes guarded. He doesn’t say an
