My hand twitches, just barely. My body knows I need to let go, even if I don’t want to.
I close my eyes, just for a moment. Just to breathe him in. Then I feel the shift. His arm tightens slightly. Barely a twitch. But enough to tell me he’s awake too.
The silence shifts—thicker now, charged.
I lift my head slowly. His eyes are open. They’re dark, unreadable, already on me. There’s no surprise in them. No smugness. Just... quiet gravity.
Neither of us says anything. I swallow, throat dry. The armor I’m trying to pull back on is cracked and too damn thin.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I whisper. A weak attempt at armor.
His jaw flexes, but he nods. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push.
Just says, quiet and steady, “Okay.” But he doesn’t let go. And I don’t move. Not yet. The space between us is still molten. Still trembling. And neither of us dares to breathe too loud.
Because walking away means something else entirely. It means pretending this didn’t happen. Pretending that for a few hours, I didn’t find peace in the arms of the one man I’ve spent months trying to hate.
That I didn’t fall asleep with my fingers curled into his shirt and my body pressed against his, belonging there. So I stay. Just a minute more. And he lets me, something he’s been waiting to do.
Chapter 28
Malachi
Shedidn’tsayaword when she slipped out of bed. Just peeled herself away like it hurt. Leaving cost her more than she wanted to admit. She didn’t look at me, either.
But her hand... lingered on the doorframe. A second. Maybe less. But long enough to matter. Long enough to wrap itself around my ribs and stay there. That second? It branded itself into me. I see it every time I blink; her fingers ghosting that wood, not ready to let go. Maybe, just maybe, she’d meant to stay.
Now it’s late afternoon, and I’m still carrying that second like a bruise. Her warmth. Her silence. The ache ofalmost.
The clubhouse has roared back to life—boots echoing across hardwood, music drifting in from the back hall, East shouting about something out in the garage—but none of it touches me. My focus is wrecked. All I hear is her breath in the dark. All I feel is her leg curling around mine, forgetting not to need me.
Even now, my skin remembers the press of hers. The way she didn’t flinch. The way she breathed softer once her knee found mine, a part of her no longer bracing.
I’m out back now, leaning on the railing, cigarette burning low between my fingers. I don’t smoke much, but tonight I need the weight of it, the burn in my lungs. The sun’s starting to sink, throwing the lot in gold and shadows when the door creaks open behind me.
I know it’s her before she says anything. I don’t turn. Just tilt my head slightly. Enough to let her know I see her, even if I don’t look. The scent hits first. Clean soap, my hoodie, and underneath it all, her. Warm skin and something faintly sweet, like peaches caught in sunlight. The kind of smell that makes a man want to stay still long enough to memorize it.
For a beat, I think she’ll slip back inside. But she steps out barefoot, wrapped in one of my hoodies, arms folded tight, acting as a shield. The door clicks shut behind her.
She doesn’t face me. Just stares out at the treeline. Voice soft. Careful. “You didn’t try to touch me.”
I take a slow drag. “You didn’t need me to.” She did. I felt it humming through her skin, static in the air. But I knew the second I reached, she’d run.
She nods, already expecting that. Then her eyes cut to mine. This time, they don’t dart away. “I don’t understand you.”
I huff a laugh. It’s not cruel, just tired. “You think I do?”
“No.” Her brow furrows, just a little. “But you know what you want.”
Ash floats off my cigarette as I flick it away. “Yeah. I do.”
“And you still let me go.”
I finally look at her. The wind teases a strand of hair across her cheek, and for a second, she doesn’t move to fix it. Even that small act of control is too much tonight. Her jaw’s tight. But hereyes—damn, her eyes—are full of questions she’s not ready to ask.
“I’m not gonna cage you, Candace,” I say, voice rough at the edges. “Even if it kills me to let you walk.”
Her breath catches.
