“You’renotfine.”
He took a step closer. “He put his hands on you and I just—” He stopped himself, fingers dragging through his hair. “I wanted to strangle him.”
My heart thudded. Silence stretched thick and hot between us. Suffocating.
I should’ve stepped away.
I didn’t.
Neither did he.
His gaze dropped to my mouth. My breath caught. We were too close. The world blurred at the edges—just him and me and this terrible, impossible pull.
“Theo…”
“I can’t do this,” he whispered.
“Then why are you still standing here?”
His hand hovered like he wanted to touch me, but didn’t trust himself. I reached up. Just barely. My fingers brushed his wrist. That was all it took. He surged forward, hands framing my face, breath mingling with mine.
But the kiss didn’t come.
Instead, his forehead dropped to mine.
“I want you,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “But if I cross that line, I won’t come back.” I didn’t move. “And you deserve someone who isn’t at war with himself every goddamn second.”
“You don’t get to decide what I deserve,” I whispered.
He pulled back then. Just enough to break the contact. Just enough to gut me. “Go home, Sin.”
My throat tightened. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
No argument. No emotion in his tone. Just his walls slamming down—again—with a finality as the door slammed shut behind me.
I didn’t say goodbye to anyone. I clocked out, grabbed my jacket, and practically stormed to the car park. The cool night air slapped at my face like it was trying to sober me up from whatever the hellthatwas.
“Whoa,” came Thalia’s voice. She was leaning against my car, cigarette in hand, black coat swishing around her legs. “You look like someone just shoved your heart into a blender.”
“Something like that,” I muttered.
She flicked her cigarette away and slid into the passenger seat like she’d done it a thousand times. “The Hollow?”
“Obviously.”
We drove in silence, the radio low, streetlights passing in blurry streaks. Drinks clinked in our hands twenty minutes later at a back booth in The Hollow, that low, moody bar where regrets were served on ice.
Thalia sipped her bourbon and studied me. “You like him.”
“No shit.”
“I meanlike-like.”
“Still no shit.”
She leaned in, serious now. “Sin... I’m warning you. Theo’s not simple. He’s buried under pressure, guilt, and family expectations. And he’s terrified of wanting anything that might make it all fall apart.”
