I get the sense he would’ve ushered the kids home hours ago, but they wanted to stay.
And I didn’t have it in me to say no.
Harrison wasn’t saying no either. All that hardened steel, undone by three pairs of puppy-dog eyes.
But since our eyes met hours ago, he’s been deliberate about it. Increasing the distance. Putting enough space between us to stack eight planets.
And I hate it.
I straighten my spine and put on my big girl panties.
“I’m sorry about today,” I say.
He turns slowly. “Sorry?”
The tremor hits hard enough that I have to brace myself on the counter. What will he think of me? “I posted my location,” I say carefully.
“What?” I can’t read him, but the word feels brittle. Like one wrong move will shatter whatever fragile thing exists between us.
And I’m about to hurl a boulder at it.
“Everyone was texting,” I say, like maybe if I explain it fast enough, it won’t hurt as much. “Calling. They were all so worried. Thought I’d been abducted. By aliens.” A dry laugh slips out. “Or my…”
I don’t say stalker. He doesn’t need that.
That’s my nuclear reactor. My mess to contain.
When I’m brave enough to look at him, he doesn’t smile. Not even close. And the ache burrowing in my gut deepens.
“Myra was losing her mind. Kali wouldn’t stop calling. It was only supposed to go to family and close friends. But I must’ve hit the wrong button, and…” My voice chips. I swallow. “If anything had happened to you…”
“Me?” His brow furrows. “You’re worried about me.”
“Of course, I’m worried about you.” The words rush out now. “I’m used to this. You’re not. And the kids…” I shake my head. “I’m used to this.”
“Nobody gets used to this.”
The truth lands hard and swift. He’s right.
I twist my fingers as the tears press closer.
Don’t cry, Ava.
I draw a breath, and put on a brave face, and say what I have to say.
“I can handle it,” I say, chin up. “But the last thing you need is my mess in your life. Or me, for that matter. I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?”
I nod. “That’s right. First thing in the morning, before?—”
He doesn’t let me finish.
His kiss crashes into me, sudden and fierce, like he’s been holding himself back all night and finally gave up. One hand slides around my waist. The other cups my jaw, like the only oxygen left in the world is behind my lips.
“I thought you were mad at me,” I whisper when he pulls back just enough to look at me.
“There you go, Pix.” His voice is low. Steady. “I’m mad at everyone in the world but you. I’m mad at a million fans who think they own pieces of you.” His lips trace the scratch from earlier. “I’m mad at the paparazzi for never giving you a fucking minute of peace.”
