Cohen doesn’t take his eyes off me.
The tension between us is still there—just paused.
“Come on,” he says, offering his hand. “We’ve got a challenge to win.”
I take it.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
As we leave the dining hall, fingers intertwined, his shoulder brushing mine, I can feel Joe’s gaze on my back.
But this time—
with Cohen’s hand in mine and his body warm beside me—
the past feels a little less terrifying.
And the future, as messy as it is, feels a hell of a lot more exciting.
58
Breathe, Becker. Don’t Do Anything Stupid.
Cohen
There’s a part of my brain—the evolved part, the one that learned how to read and write and not fling poop at my rivals—that knows I need to stay calm.
Sloane told me it’s over. That it’s a closed chapter.
And I want to believe her. I need to believe her, because I don’t want to be an asshole. I don’t want to turn into some controlling, toxic idiot.
But then there’s the other part.
The part screaming and rattling the bars of my rib cage.
The caveman.
The one who sees the way Joe looks at her—with that greasy familiarity, like he knows her secrets, like he knows exactly which button breaks her—and all he wants to do is storm across the room and rip his head clean off.
Why the hell won’t she tell me about him?
Why is she guarding that story with so much silence?
If he’s just an ex, just say it.
Yeah, he’s my ex. He was a jerk. The end.
But no.
There’s fear in her eyes.
A kind of insecurity that doesn’t fit her at all.
And I don’t hate Joe just because he touched her—
I hate him because he left marks I can’t see but somehow stillfeel.
Because he made her believe she was less than she is.
