I nod. “Okay.”
Then he says, “I heard you muttering earlier—about forgetting to buy something?”
“Yeah,” I reply, “I need to pick up a nail polish set. His gifts aren’t complete without them.”
“Mike will drive you,” he says simply.
I smile—of course, he will. Mike isn’t just his driver, I’ve come to realize. He’s also a bodyguard, quiet and always lurking just close enough.
I unwrap my hands from Alex’s neck and take a small step back, but my chest is still tight with the heat of being close to him.
“See you later tonight,” I say.
The words leave my mouth softer than I mean them to, and the blush that rises to my cheeks tells on me. There’s an unspoken meaning behind what I just said, and we both know it.
Alex smirks. A slow, knowing curve of his lips. He leans in, kisses my cheek with maddening tenderness, and finally turns to leave.
I watch him walk away, my heart warm, body buzzing. Maybe it’s time I thank the universe for this happiness, for this version of peace I never thought I’d have. I only pray it doesn’t slip through my fingers.
***
Mike parks out front, and I already know the drill. He turns to me, eyebrows raised, a sign to ask me if he should join me inside, but I stop him before he even opens his mouth and type quickly on my phone:
Don’t worry. I’ll be in and out in less than 10 minutes.
He reads it, nods, and leans back in his seat like a watchdog on standby. I smile faintly and step out.
It’s loud inside the store. Sharp echoes of conversation, baskets squeaking, kids whining, music spilling overhead. My hearing aids make it worse sometimes, like everything’s too close and too far at once. But it’s okay. I’m used to it. I know how to filter it out.
I weave through the beauty aisle, scanning rows of nail polish sets and nail kits, fingers brushing over shimmering colors and neatly boxed tools. There are so many brands, somany choices—glossy, matte, pastel—and the thought of how excited Tyler would be fills me with a quiet kind of joy. I can already see his grin.
I’m holding two different kits, comparing them, debating between a lavender shimmer and a deep emerald gloss, when I hear it—
“Lucas?”
The voice cuts through the air like a blade.
My body reacts before my mind can. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. My blood doesn’t run cold; it freezes. That voice. That fucking voice.
My fingers go still against the box. My breath catches halfway up my throat.
My heart doesn’t race. It stops just for a second, as if it had forgotten how.
I turn slowly, every movement stiff and mechanical, like my joints are locking into place without my permission.
Nate.
He’s standing near the end of the aisle.
The recognition slices through me like glass. My chest caves inward, lungs locked, and my whole body goes rigid. I can’t move. I can’t blink. I feel as though I’ve walked face-first into a nightmare and I’m trapped inside it. My stomach twists violently, and for a second, I think I might be sick.
Same face. Same smirk. That half-disgusting smile he wore when he and his friends ruined me, like it was all a joke to him. Like seeing me here, now, is some fucked-up coincidence he gets to laugh about later.
“It’s you,” he says again, voice low and crawling—slithering down my back like something rotten.
I feel my breath start to climb up my throat, tight and fast. My hands tremble, like my body’s remembering pain and violation before my mind can process it.
He starts walking toward me.
