She collapses against me. Clutches my jacket with desperate fists and buries her face in my neck, soaking my skin with hot tears.
Her body shakes against mine, every sob another crack straight through my heart.
Parts of me I didn’t even know existed—parts I thought were dead or numb—are waking up now, screaming for her.
“Shhh,” I whisper into her hair, kissing the top of her head. “Shhh, Angel. You don’t have to cry. Not for me. Never for me.”
“I thought you left,” she cries into my scarf. “I thought you hated me.”
“I couldn’t hate you if I tried,” I murmur, holding her tighter. “Do you hear me? I’m here.”
I take her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. I wipe her tears with my thumbs, but they keep coming.
“I’m not leaving, Sloane. I didn’t leave.”
My voice comes out low, rough with emotion.
“I just needed to calm down. I was angry. Jealous. Scared. And I was about to turn into the worst version of myself.”
I rest my forehead against hers. Our breaths mingle, white clouds in the cold air.
“I don’t want to be that guy with you. I don’t want to screw this up. I want to give you the best of me. And the best of me…”
I stop, steadying myself.
“The best of me only comes out when I’m with you. Walking away wasn’t fair. That’s not how you handle things. I’m sorry, Angel.”
She sniffles softly and looks at me with wide, disbelieving eyes—like she never expected to hear that.
I kiss her tear-damp lashes. Then the tip of her cold nose.
“I don’t care about Joe. I don’t care how it started. I care about where we are now. I care that when you look at me, I see myself differently. I see myself… capable.”
Sloane lets out a shaky breath and finally relaxes in my arms.
Her body goes heavy against mine, like she’s cut the strings that were holding her taut.
We stay like that, wrapped in snow-soft silence and the distant hum of generators. I don’t rush her. I need this moment—need to know she’s here, that she’s not running.
“Cohen…” she murmurs against my jacket.
“Yeah?”
She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her lashes are wet, cheeks flushed from cold and tears, but her gaze is steady. Determined.
“There’s something you need to know. About that night. At The Aureum.”
I stiffen, just slightly. Part of me is afraid—afraid she’ll confirm I was nothing more than a distraction.
“I went there to distract myself,” she says softly. “I wanted to erase Joe. I wanted to feel alive. Wanted. Not like the boring girl he cheated on.”
She takes a breath, fingers gripping the lapels of my jacket.
“But the moment I saw you… the moment you spoke to me… Joe disappeared. I wasn’t using you to forget him. I was with you because it was electric. Because it felt different from anything I’d ever known. It was special, Cohen. Right away.”
The knot in my stomach loosens, inch by inch.
“Then why did you run?” I ask quietly—the question that’s haunted me for months.
