Holly steps into my path.
“Going somewhere?”
“Holly, move.”
“That little performance back there?” She crosses her arms. “The mascara line? That was just the warm-up.” Her voice drops, steel wrapped in silk. “Hurt her again, and I'll make sure the next auction is for your organs.”
“I need to find her?—”
“What you need is to give her space.”
“I fucked up. I know I fucked up. I need to?—”
“You need to back off.” She doesn't budge. “She's not a problem you can fix in the next five minutes, Everett. She's a person. And right now, that person needs to be as far away from you as possible.”
“Holly—”
“I'm not done.” Her eyes flash. “You don't get to chase her down and force a conversation becauseyoufeel bad. That's not an apology. That's you trying to make yourself feel better.”
My chest aches, the words landing a direct hit.
Because she's right.
But knowing she’s right doesn’t stop the desperation clawing me from the inside out.
“Walk away,” Holly says quietly. “Give her tonight.And tomorrow, if she's willing to listen, you grovel, and you mean it.”
“I don't have time for this, Holly.” I move to step around her. “I need to?—”
“You need to listen.”
“What I need is to find her before?—”
A hand lands on my shoulder.
Chance.
“Everything okay here?” His tone is easy, but his grip says otherwise.
“We're fine.” My jaw is so tight it aches. “Your wife was just finishing up.”
Holly's eyes narrow.
Chance's grip tightens. “Careful.”
One word. Low. A warning. A favor.
I glance between them. At the wall they've formed. At the door Sierra disappeared through.
Every instinct screams at me to push past them. To find her. To fix this.
But Holly's right.
I can't fix this by chasing her down.
I can only make it worse.
“Fine,” I grind out.
