Lingering like smoke.
Like she’s not planning to leave anytime soon.
And I don’t understand why.
Because if he doesn’t want her there, then why is she still part of the picture?
I’m gripping my phone like it personally betrayed me when I glance up, and freeze.
Right across the street, towering above the light rail platform near Union Station, is a billboard. Huge. Faded, but unmistakable.
Knox Knightly.
Young, perfect, invincible. LA uniform clinging to his frame, helmet in one hand, that cocky half smirk on his face. The tagline beneath it says: “Unstoppable.”
My breath catches.
Because that man? The one on that billboard? He’s a ghost.
A myth, frozen in time. All bravado and promise and glory.
But I’ve seen the real version.
I’ve seen him barefoot in the kitchen at dawn, scowling at a broken French press. I’ve seen him carry an old man’s groceries across a frozen parking lot without a word. I’ve seen him fall apart, quietly, painfully, when the past cracked open and swallowed him whole.
And I’ve felt him.
Damn, I’vefelthim.
Not just his hands or his mouth or the way he kissed me like he was starving. But the way he held me when I cried. The way he whispered my name like it meant something.
I thought I could walk away. Thought distance would make it easier to breathe.
But standing here, staring up at the version of him the world used to know, all I can think is...
He’s not unstoppable.
He’s human.
And he’s hurting.
I blink hard, shoving my phone into my coat pocket as traffic surges past. My stomach churns. My heart pounds.
This is ridiculous. We aren’t on good terms. We aren’t even talking.
But still…
I cross the street before I realize I’m moving, steps quick and uneven.
Because even if I’m not ready to forgive him, not yet, I’m not sure I can stomach the idea of Savannah Monroe being the one by his side while he falls apart.
Not when I know the feel of his skin at sunrise.
Not when he’s the first person I think of when something hurts, or when something matters.
And definitely not when I can feel him, still, etched into every soft corner of my heart.
I’m not running toward him.
