She adjusts the knot, tucks one side under her armpit, andhacks out a laugh, “Shit. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now we’re both emotionally scarred,” I say, reaching up and jabbing the elevator button, silently praying it doesn’t take forever. A single heartbeat passes, and then the doors slide open like they’ve been waiting just for us.
“Thank God,” I mutter, grabbing Neve’s arm and hauling her inside. The doors slide shut, and I exhale for the first time in what feels like hours.
On the main floor, we step out, heads down, trying to blend in like two totally normal, not-busted-up women whodefinitelyhaven’t just escaped medical care. And then I see him.
Nathan.
He’s slumped in a chair in the waiting area, elbows on his knees, head hung low. His hoodie is pulled tight around his shoulders like he’s been there for hours. Like he’s still waiting. My chest stutters. He stayed?
I step closer, just enough to call out under my breath. “Nathan.”
His head jerks up. His eyes go wide the second he sees us. He stands fast, his body snapping into motion. Shit, he is waiting for me. His gaze hits my face first, then drops. I watch the flicker in his eyes as they trail down—slow, heated—and settle on my legs.
My sleep clothes don’t cover much. His throat bobs. His mouth opens like he wants to say something but can’t decide if he should.
Something twists in my stomach.
“What the hell are you two doing?” he finally blurts out.
Neve grins, completely unfazed. “We’re busting out of here. Obviously.”
He turns to me again, panic replacing whatever heat had flashed in his eyes. “But are you okay to leave?”
I blink. “You stayed?”
His cheeks flush, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, of course. I was worried about you.”
I can’t even find the words. Something hot crawls up my throat, and I don’t know if it’s gratitude or guilt or the sudden memory of his eyes on my thighs. “Can you drive us home?” I ask.
He nods immediately. “Yeah, come on.”
I follow him toward the exit, the soles of my bare feet sticking slightly to the tile, my legs aching with every step. Nathan walks just ahead, his pace slow and steady, the arrogant walk of a self-proclaimed hero. There’s something almost hopeful in the way he moves, like this ride home could mean something more—like maybe staying at the hospital erased everything that came before.
But it didn’t. And I can’t let him think it did.
We hit the automatic doors, and I reach out, brushing my fingers against his arm to stop him. He turns, startled by the touch.
“But it’s only a ride home, Nathan,” I say softly. “Nothing else.”
His eyes flicker. Just for a second. Something in his expression cracks then tries to hold itself together. “You love him? That tattooed guy?” he asks.
I look away, not because I’m ashamed, but because thinking about Damian right now hurts. “It’s not about him,” I say. “You and me… we didn’t work. You left, Nathan. You didn’t want meanymore. And I—” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I deserve someone who does.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to spin it. He just nods, slow and quiet, and walks through the doors.
The drive is short, but it feels like forever.
Nathan doesn’t talk. The engine hums under us, tires hissing against wet pavement as we cut through the quiet streets. I sit in the back with Neve, both of us wrapped in the stink of smoke and sweat, coughing every few minutes like our lungs can’t forget what we’ve breathed in. The taste of fire clings to the back of my throat—bitter, acrid, metallic.
Ash and fear. That’s what it tastes like.
My heart punches harder the closer we get. I try to brace for it. Try to picture the damage so I won’t fall apart when I see it.
But I don’t come close.
We pull up in front of the bakery, and everything inside me caves in.
