I didn't have any ready answers. The truth was, I had never considered how his perspective might feel—how trapped, and uncertain he must have been. He had a point.
"I'm not saying that this isn't difficult, Richard," I said finally, keeping my tone measured, trying to bridge the gap between anger and understanding. "All I'm saying is… you could have told me. I thought you got kidnapped or something."
"Kidnapped?" he repeated, a small chuckle escaping him despite the tension in his shoulders. His laugh was light, almost incredulous.
I shot him a glare. "Don't mock me. I was worried," I snapped. I realized that even when I was angry, even when I wanted to rail at him for his thoughtlessness, I couldn't stay mad at him for long.
"I'm sorry. I should've told you," he admitted quietly. The space between us shrank imperceptibly, charged with an unspoken longing, and I caught my pulse quickening.
