Monte exhaled hard, like that cost him something.
“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe you’re just waiting for the right person to stay.”
I pulled back, just enough to see him. His eyes were dark and kind and full. Not pity. Not judgment. Just presence.
“Thank you,” I said.
His jaw worked. “Don’t thank me. I’m the one who should’ve said more sooner.”
I frowned. “Said what?”
He held my gaze. “That I see you. Not the planner. Not the fixer. You. The girl who built herself from nothing. The woman who makes chaos look like art. The one who doesn’t know she’s already more than enough.”
I swallowed hard.
Then I turned back to the mirror.
And before I could stop myself, I said it.
“I thought you would leave. After what happened with Silas—I thought maybe he scared you off.”
Monte was quiet. Too quiet.
I glanced at him, really looked, and the shadows caught just enough of his face to show me what I’d been pretending not to see. The bruising was faint now, just yellow-green along the ridge of his nose, but it was there. And I knew the break had been worse before. Had to have been.
My throat tightened. “He hurt you.”
Monte’s mouth twitched. “It wasn’t about me,” he said. “It was about you.”
My stomach twisted. “God.”
I turned away, my arms folding over my stomach. Shame twisted through me like barbed wire. I hadn’t even talked to Monte about his face. Had I really been that callous? That deep in Silas’s orbit I couldn’t admit who was bleeding for me in silence?
“I didn’t ask,” I whispered. “I didn’t even—Jesus, Monte, I didn’t ask.”
He stepped behind me, close but not touching. “You didn’t have to.”
“I was so wrapped up in him. In … whatever this is.”
Monte’s voice dropped. “You’re still wrapped up in it.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Because it was true.
“I see how you sneak looks when he walks in a room. How you pretend to be checking the flower arrangements when you’re actually waiting to see if he’ll follow you into a closet.”
Heat crawled up my neck.
Monte didn’t sound angry. Just tired. Just heartbroken.
“I know what it looks like,” I said quietly. “Us sneaking around.”
His voice sharpened. “It looks like you being reckless.”
I flinched. “I’m not?—”
“You are.” He didn’t raise his voice, but there was something steel-edged in it. “You’re playing with a man who doesn’t even know what side of the war he’s on. Who disappears when things get hard and punches people who care about you when they get too close.”
I turned then, because I couldn’t take hearing it while staring at my reflection. “You don’t know what it’s like with him.”
