"Fine," I cut her off, stepping back before she can touch me. "Just tired."
The hurt that flickers across her face is like a knife to the chest. She was reaching for me—something she never would have done a week ago—and I just pulled away like her touch would burn.
Which it might. Or I might burn her.
"Okay," she says quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'll just... get some water."
She moves to the sink, and I watch her go, hating myself for the distance I've just put between us. Hating the thing inside me that's making me dangerous.
Jace catches my eye, his expression a mix of sympathy and concern. He knows. He sees exactly what's happening and why I can't let her close.
The problem is, pulling away from Bree might be the one thing that kills me.
But letting her close might be the thing that kills her.
I don't know what's happening to me. But I know one thing for certain—I can't let this thing inside me hurt the people I love.
Even if it means staying away from them forever.
Chapter 4
Gray
The nightmare hits like ice water in my veins.
I'm small again—so small my feet don't touch the floor when I sit on the bed. My hands shake as I clutch something soft and worn, its fur matted from too many tears. The air tastes like burnt toast and cigarettes, acrid and wrong, making my stomach twist.
"You're just going to leave?!" The voice explodes through thin walls, making me flinch. "After everything I've done for you?"
I know that voice. Kevin. Bree's father. But I shouldn't be hearing it like this—shouldn't beherelike this.
"I can't do this anymore, Kevin." The woman's voice wavers between sharp and broken, and something in my chest cracks at the sound. "I've tried. God, I've tried. But I'm done."
Claire. Bree's mother.
I press my hands over my ears, but the voices seep through anyway, poison through cracks. My heart pounds against my ribs as I squeeze my eyes shut, colors bursting behind my lids.
"You're not thinking about Bree." Kevin's voice turns mean—the way it always did right before something broke. "What kind of mother just walks out on her kid?"
"Everything I do is for her!" Claire's voice cracks like glass. "You don't understand. You never did."
I pull the bear tighter, clutching it to my chest. My fingers curl into its fur—so tight I feel threads pop.
She wouldn’t leave me. She wouldn’t.
Wait.
She wouldn’t leave me?
The front door slams, shaking the walls. Everything goes quiet.
"Mom?"
The word slips frommylips.
But it’s not mine.
It’s hers.
