Aneira couldn't stop pacing.
She had already checked the clock more than ten times. It was almost 11 p.m., and Jaxton still hadn't come home.
She sat back down at the edge of the bed, picked up her phone, and stared at it again. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing. Her chest felt tight. She felt so annoyed and hurt.
She tapped open his contact. Her thumb hovered over the call button for a long moment before she dropped the phone again and slumped back onto the pillows, covering her face with both hands.
"Why are you like this, Aneira?" she whispered to herself.
She didn't want to care. She didn't want to feel like this. This hollow, twisting ache in her chest. The feeling of waiting for someone who didn't tell her when he'd be back. The way her mind kept replaying last night, the way he held her, touched her, whispered against her skin like she was the only thing that mattered. And now? Not even a text?
She hated how vulnerable she felt.
And worse, how deeply she missed him.
