“Feeling better?”
“Yeah.”
He set the bags down, came over to where I was sitting. His hand came up to my forehead, checking for fever like he had any idea what he was doing. The gesture was so tender it made my throat tight.
“You scared me,” he said quietly.
“I’m fine, Drew.”
“You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine since Seattle. Maybe longer.” His thumb brushed across my temple. “Talk to me.”
I looked up at him, at this man who’d somehow worked his way under my skin, who made me feel safe and terrified in equal measure.
“I’m fine, I promise,” I whispered.
His jaw clenched. I could see the war happening behind his eyes—the part of him that wanted to push, to demand answers, to tear down my walls until nothing was left hidden. But instead, he just nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
He pulled me up, wrapped his arms around me, and I buried my face in his chest. Let myself have this one moment of peace before everything inevitably fell apart.
Because it would fall apart. It always did.
And when it did, I’d lose everything.
Including him.
Chapter 13 – Drew
The sun had begun to dip below the horizon when I stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind me. I thought Cassandra would be sleeping—knocked out from whatever virus had her body staging a rebellion. But my eyes landed on her immediately.
She was curled up in the wide windowsill, one knee tucked under her, an arm resting on the cool glass. The fading light painted her skin in shades of amber and shadow. She looked way better than yesterday—no more of that sickly pallor that had twisted my gut into knots—but she was still lost somewhere I couldn’t reach.
I wanted to ask her what was wrong. Wanted to pry open whatever vault she’d locked herself inside. But I knew better. She’d deny it. Build another wall. Add another lock.
So, I cleared my throat instead.
Her head turned slightly, enough for me to catch the profile of her face, the curve of her jaw, the way her lips pressed together like she was holding back words that would burn us both.
“When did you get in?” she asked, her voice soft, almost fragile. It didn’t suit her.
I walked toward her, each step measured, my body still wound tight from a day of watching Rafael slowly unravel without her. “Just now.”
I settled down on the ledge next to her with a sigh, close enough that our thighs nearly touched. The windowsill wasn’t made for two people, but I didn’t care. I needed to be near her. Needed to feel her warmth, her presence, proof that she was still here and not slipping through my fingers like smoke.
The urge to kiss her hit me like a freight train. My eyes dropped to her lips—soft, slightly parted—and I wanted to tastethem, wanted to lose myself in her until neither of us could think straight. But she’d been sick. Vulnerable. And despite every instinct screaming at me to take what I wanted, I couldn’t do that to her.
So I leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead instead.
It was supposed to be simple. Chaste. A gesture of comfort, nothing more.
But the moment my lips touched her skin, I felt her breath hitch. Heard the little gasp escape her mouth. And it nearly broke my resolve.
I pulled back just enough to look at her, my hand finding hers almost without permission. My fingers laced through hers, holding on like she might disappear if I let go.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.
I knew she’d never stop my advances. She’d proven that enough times. But I didn’t want to force myself on her. Didn’t want to be that man who took advantage when she was already fragile.
