“Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”
He says legacy like it’s his to protect.
Then he taps the glass,
watching my bored expression.
“You always been headstrong. Nothin’ wrong with that. But don’t go mistakin’ chaos for independence.”
I blow out a breath,
steer my gaze across the floor.
“Yeah. Appreciate the advice,” I say,
and the coldness in my voice kills him.
His eyes rake down my body, his grin follows.
Feral. Filthy. Faking charm.
“Really think you’ve grown into somethin’, huh?”
My eyes whip to him fast,
my fist pressing into the bar,
nails biting the edge.
“Didn’t have a fuckin’ choice,” I whisper.
My voice trembles, but it doesn’t back down.
He drains the rest of the whiskey,
flips the glass,
slamming it face-down in front of me.
The sound makes me jump in place.
He leans in, tucking my hair behind my ear,
his mouth close to my temple.
“Feelin’ a little emotional, huh? Happens when you don’t let Ben do his fuckin’ job.” He inches back to meet my eyes, thumb grazing my cheek. “Skip the booze tonight, yeah? Keep that head of yours clear.”
The tension coming off Andrew isn’t heat?—
it’s shivering cold.
Hail on bare skin.
If I see his face, I’ll know exactly what’s going through his head. And worse, he’ll see what’s going through mine.
Andrew can’t see my cracks, my weak points,
the soft spots I’ve tried to concrete over.
