The only thing holding me back?
I’m desperately trying to prove to myself that I am capable of being a decent human being. That having my father’s blood in my veins doesn’t automatically make me an asshole.
I start pacing the room, dragging both hands through my hair, trying to bleed off the adrenaline before I explode.
“Who the hell does he think he is?” I growl, mostly to myself.
Sure… I tried to let it go. I kept going through the challenge. I joked with Sloane. I held her close.
But when we were about to head back to our separate chaletsand I heard him throw out one last pathetic comment… yeah. That flipped the switch. Hard.
Then I stop.
Because I don’t hear anything behind me.
No snarky comeback. No“calm down, Becker.”
Nothing.
I turn.
Sloane is standing near the kitchen entrance.
She hasn’t taken off her coat.
She hasn’t moved.
She’s staring at the floor like she’s trying not to fall through it.
Her arms are wrapped around herself, like she’s physically holding herself together.
And she’s shaking.
Not a cold shiver—this is a deep, full-body tremor that shakes her shoulders.
My anger evaporates in an instant, replaced by a cold, sharp punch to the gut.
I hate myself. Immediately. Because I didn’t look at her first. Because I let rage blind me.
“Sloane?”
My voice comes out softer.
She doesn’t answer.
I take two cautious steps toward her—slow, the way you approach a wounded animal.
“Hey.”
I place my hands on her arms over the wool of her coat. She’s vibrating under my palms.
“Look at me.”
She lifts her gaze.
Her eyes are dry, but there’s an ocean of insecurity inside them—an abyss I’ve never seen in her.
The Sloane I know—the Queen of Hearts who commands anentire town—is gone.
