I sit in my too-small seat in the too-warm theater with a child-sized hoodie balled up in my lap and a thousand thoughts running through my mind like a stampede.
Theo—Ego, whatever—takes the aisle seat again beside me, the quiet weight of his presence grounding me, even as my pulse hasn’t quite returned to normal.My fingers brush against the soft fabric of the souvenir sweatshirt and I glance sideways at him.His jaw is tight, arms crossed, body still alert—watching everyone and everything like the danger’s not over yet.
I guess it isn’t.
By the time the show ends, and the curtain falls, and we gather all our students with only minimal chaos (and one juice box spill), I’m exhausted.My body feels like it’s made of overcooked spaghetti and sheer adrenaline.
We load the kids onto the bus, and I’m halfway to the top step when a firm hand closes gently around my wrist and tugs me back.
“What?”I ask, turning.
Theo stands on the sidewalk, still watching everything.Still alert.He looks down at me, then past me, making sure all the kids are accounted for before he speaks.
“I spoke to the principal,” he says, voice low but steady.“He’s aware something occurred and knows we need to go into my office to file a report.”
“Oh, um, okay,” I say, blinking.Right.Paperwork.That makes sense.I nod, trying not to sound like a complete idiot.
“I thought we’d get a little dinner after,” he adds, eyes meeting mine now.“That okay?”
There’s a beat of silence.A pause in the middle of a New York sidewalk, the kind where something shifts, tilts, rebalances.
“Sure,” I answer—too quickly.Way too quickly.I clear my throat and pretend to smooth my cardigan like I’m not freaking out inside.“Yeah.That sounds fine.”
His lips twitch in the beginnings of a smirk.“Fine?”
“It sounds good, Theo,” I repeat, then soften.“Thank you.For everything today.”
“I just did my job.”
“You saved me,us, both of us.”
“You saved that kid, Angel,” he says, stepping a little closer.“You protected him.Locked the door.Calmed him down.That matters.”
I want to deflect, to make a joke, to brush it off like I always do.
But I don’t.
I just say, “So did you.”
We stare at each other, surrounded by the distant sounds of the city and the bite of winter in the air.Taxis honking, buses screeching, and Broadway foot traffic hustling by.
The city keeps moving after everything that happened today, completely indifferent.
But I’m stuck in place.
Caught between what just happened, what could’ve happened, and what might happen next.
“Dinner,” I say again, like I’m reminding myself.“Okay.”
His smile deepens, just a little.
“Yeah.Dinner.After we hit the office, and leave a report.”
“Right,” I say again, turning toward the second bus.“But I’m paying.”
“Angel,” he drawls, his voice low and dangerous and amused, “you’re gonna lose that argument before it even starts.”
And just like that, my heart goes all fluttery again.
