“You put your glasses back on,” I murmur.
He nods, voice low. “I’ve been having headaches, and I don’t use contacts anymore. I guess I’m stuck with these.”
“They still look good on you.”
He chuckles softly, eyes glinting. For a heartbeat, we both forget to breathe. Then his knuckles graze my cheek, feather-light, and I lean into it, helpless.
“You still wear the necklace,” he whispers.
“I never took it off. You still have the pin.”
“I never take it off.”
The silence swells thick between us. Our eyes are magnetic, tethered. His gaze lingers on my lips, mine on his.
“Enough,” we say together, almost choking on the word, and we both flinch, startled.
“It’s not fair to even think that,” he mutters.
I nod quickly. “You’re right.”
The stereo shifts, cruelly, into Fleetwood Mac’sI Got It In for You.
Great. Looks like the universe has it in for me.
My phone starts ringing and I grab it right away. A hidden number. Weird. I answer, while Vincent turns the stereo down to almost nothing. “Hello?”
“Nova?”
My heart stutters. “Asher?”
Panic spikes in his voice. My own panic mirrors it as I scramble upright on the bed. “Ash? How did you—? Wait, didn’t you already have my number? What’s yours? I’ll save it. Can we video call? Please, Ash, let me see you.”
I grip Vincent’s arm so hard he groans, but I can’t loosen.
There’s a pause on the line, then Asher’s voice, sharp, angry. “Who’s with you?”
“It’s just Vincent, why—”
“It’s alwayshim,” Asher spits. “Of course you’re with him! I knew this was a mistake. You don’t give a fuck about me and you never did. You only care about that asshole. Fuck you, Nova.”
He cuts me off before I can say a word.
“No! No, no, no, Ash—please!” I cry, stabbing at my screen. I call back again and again, but nothing.
I throw my phone across the floor for the umpteenth time and start pinching my skin—thighs, arms, stomach—anything to distract myself from the ache inside. The pressure is supposed to pull me out of my head, to replace the old, hollow pain with something raw and real I can control. I press until my fingers burn and fight the tears back, but they come anyway, hot and traitorous.
Before I can get any farther, Vincent’s hands close around mine, hard and immovable, squeezing until the pins-and-needles bite of my grip fades.
“Let go of me!” I thrash, kicking, trying to bite him, the panic twisting everything into a frantic blur. He doesn’t let go.
“I’m not letting you hurt yourself.” His voice is flat, a steady line of steel that refuses to crack.
“Let me go—please—” I sob, words jagged.
“No.” He pulls me into him, arms folding around my body like armor. “Get angry. Scream. Cry. Do whatever you need. But I won’t let you go. I won’t leave.”
His chest is broad under my face; his heartbeat is a steady drum against my ear, an anchor when the world tilts. My resistance dissolves into sobs that shake my ribs. “Please, Vincent...” I crumble into him, the fight vacating my limbs.
