They drove home in silence, an uneasy quiet that felt suffocating. Ellen sat straight in the passenger seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
She stole a glance at Mason from the corner of her eye, but his gaze was fixed on the road ahead, his jaw clenched tight, and his knuckles white around the steering wheel. His face was unreadable, but the way he carried himself said a lot.
He was angry—no, beyond angry.
She wanted to say something, to break the silence that was gnawing at her insides, but the words wouldn't come. And even if they did, she wasn't sure what she could say that would make any difference. The truth was, no words would help right now. Mason wasn't ready to talk, and she wasn't sure she was either.
Her mind kept drifting back to the balcony, to the way Mason had stepped in, fierce and protective. She'd never seen that look in his eyes before, so intense, so raw.