I get into the driver’s seat, shutting the door firmly against the cold and the memories, and start the car.
When Jackson reaches for my hand as I drive away, all I can think is…
Thank God that damn bridge didn’t win tonight.
It’s been a week sinceRichard Grant disappeared beneath the ice of Viridian River.
It’s been a week, and somehow my life feels both brand new and stitched together.
Richard’s body washed up on the bank two days later, and I didn’t realize how much dread I was still carrying around with me until it was replaced by relief.
He’s really gone.
There’s no chance of him coming back.
The day after that, Isaac asked me to officially move in. Of course I said yes. How could I possibly say no when he tried so hard to be his usual confident and assured self but let a bit of that vulnerability of his slip through too?
Everything feels so new even though not much has changed from this past month.
I wake up in Isaac’s bed every morning.
I have drawers in his dresser filled with my clothes.
My toothbrush sits beside his.
Last night, he cleared half of his closet for me, already knowing exactly how he wanted everything organized like he had been planning to do it for months.
He’s been…perfect.
Patient.
I haven’t been quite ready to jump right back into sex. As far as trauma goes, I definitely have some. It could’ve been so much worse, and I’ll always be grateful for Isaac that it wasn’t. But I didn’t want to rush into anything and risk doing more damage.
He’s been understanding and gentle. If I didn’t already know how much of a sadistic Dom he can be, I wouldn’t believe that side of him exists with how sweet and caring he’s been.
Things with my dad are getting better too. We’ve talked more in the last week than we have in the past year. He swears there’s not much else he can tell me about Dylan than he already has, but he’s been more open about it. He’s been trying, and I’m meeting him halfway. I think we both deserve a chance to fix what got broken long before either of us knew how to talk through our shit.
As I cross campus, snow still clings to the edges of sidewalks, stubborn and gray, but it’s shrinking by the day. The air has that strange in-between quality—cold but softer, like winter is finally losing its grip and spring is breathing its first sigh somewhere just out of reach. A few brave blades of grass poke through the thawing patches near the benches, and the sunlight lasts a little longer each afternoon.
I pass by other students as we all head to morning classes. They talk and laugh and complain about homework or tests or whatever it is this week, living their normal lives.
For the first time in a while, I almost feel like one of them.
I’m rounding the corner of the library when the crowd splits, and I nearly collide with someone coming from the opposite direction.
Pierce Grant.
My heart stutters, then freefalls right into my stomach.
Physically, he looks the same. Broad shoulders, expensive coat, brown hair purposefully mussed. But today, there’s something different beneath it all. Darker and heavier. It’s not surprising considering it’s only been a week since his father died.
Since Ikilledhis father.
My body reacts on instinct. My muscles tense, and I hold my breath as the memory of his fists and insults flash like a warning, like that was only the preview for what I can expect now that he has even more reason to hate me.
He takes a step closer, and my pulse spikes.
But instead of attacking…
