This has been simmering too long.
Boiling.
Burning.
It’s time.
He follows me, boots heavy on the tile.When we reach the small hallway by the storage room, I turn to face him.
He towers over me, but I don’t back down.
Not today.
“What’s going on?”I ask, arms crossed to keep from shaking.
“Nothing,” he replies instantly.
“No.”I shake my head.“Don’t do that.Don’t give me the bare-minimum biker answer.”
His jaw clenches.“Kelly?—”
“I’m serious, Riot.We can’t keep doing this.We had an agreement.”
Silence.
I hate how fast my heart is beating.
How scared I am of his answer.The way the anxiety rises inside me with every passing breath.
How terrified I am that I already know what he’s going to say.
“We said no strings,” he finally replies.“You’re the one who wanted that.”
I laugh.It’s sharp, humorless.“Yeah, back when you actually acted like you liked me.”
His brow lifts in challenge.“I never said I didn’t.”
“You never said you did either.”
He goes quiet.
And that—that’sthe problem.
He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t fight.
He doesn’t reach for me.
He just stands there like a stone while my heart breaks in a thousand silent, pathetic little pieces.
“Riot,” I whisper, “if you don’t want this anymore, just say it.I thought we could be friends.”
His eyes flick away for a second.Just a second.But it’s enough.
Enough for me to see the truth:
He’s already gone.
