“I just wanted to say…I’m really sorry about your brothers. They were great guys.”
The kindness should soften something in me. Instead, it makes the grief curdle into anger.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He lingers like he expects me to say something more. Like he thinks I should cry and let him pat my back and nod solemnly as if that will somehow make any of this better.
“I mean it,” he continues. “It must be tough. If you ever need to talk—”
I snap before I can stop myself. “I don’t.”
He flinches slightly, and guilt tugs at the edges of my frustration, but I don’t take it back. I don’t want sympathy. I don’t want condolences from people who didn’t know them, who never saw them outside of the polished version they presented in public. They don’t know what’s been lost. They don’t know what it means to live in the shadow of their absence.
The guy mutters another apology and quickly steps away, disappearing into the stream of students moving through the hallway. I stand there for another few seconds, wiping at my damp cheeks before I take a slow, shuddering breath and push forward.
I don’t have time to fall apart. I don’t have time to go back to our apartment, to sit in the silence of everything they left behind, and I don’t have access to any of their things at the Bonesmen’s house.
There’s still another class. There’s still the rest of the day to get through.
I keep walking.
I don’t call him, and Hayden doesn’t call me. But I know he knows every detail about my day. Every time I pass a Bonesman, their eyes are locked on me.
Somehow, I make it through. The classes blur together, the weight in my chest never fully lifting. I go through the motions and let the words of my professors wash over me without sinking in. I just need to make it to the end. Just need to keep moving.
And then, finally, it’s over.
As I step out of the last building, the late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the campus. My heels click softly against the pavement as I make my way toward the gates.
That’s when I see him.
Hayden is leaning against his car, parked just in front of the entrance, his usual air of casual arrogance wrapped around him like a second skin. A new car this time. A vintage black Mercedesgleams in the golden light, polished and perfect, but he looks just slightly undone.
His sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, revealing the lean, toned muscle beneath. His dark blonde hair is a little messy, like he’s run his hands through it one too many times. A cigarette hangs between his lips, the ember glowing faintly as he takes a slow drag.
A slight breeze passes, as more of his dark blonde hair falls from its waxed, pushed-back style and grazes his forehead.
I can’t pull my eyes away from the cigarette balanced between his perfectly plush lips. Inhaling the smoke and pushing it out in two long streams from his nostrils.
He looks terrifying, tall and brooding, like he would snap your neck if you interrupted his smoke.
But I don’t miss the circles under his eyes, and I can’t stop the questions that rise to the tip of my tongue because of them. He looks tired, his gaze fixed on the large library building, his expression distant and glazed. I want to reach out and trace them with my fingertips.
I stare, looking at how he leans against the car, menacing in his stature.
Then he sees me, and his whole demeanor relaxes just a notch.
His gaze darkens, dragging over me in a slow, deliberate sweep, a look meant to be felt. The kind that burns, that lingers, that makes my breath hitch before I can stop it.
He knows exactly what he’s doing when he trails his eyes from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I wish I saw more in his eyes than hunger, but other than the desire to fuck, I’m unable to find anything else in them.
I slow my steps, my stomach twisting and flipping as I get closer. He watches each step as I approach, his sharp eyes locked on mine, assessing, waiting.
I hate that my heart starts racing. I hate that my body betrays me before my mind can catch up. I hate that despite everything, I still want him. I want to know what he did all day. I want to know what it feels like to lie next to him in bed at night and wake up with him there in the morning.
I stop a few feet away, tilting my head, knowing there are softer things I’d prefer to say, yet, willing my voice to stay steady, I find I'm unable to bite back my snarky wit. "Wait here all day for me?"
He exhales smoke, his lips curling into the kind of smirk that could ruin a person. "Had better things to do."
