“It’s the only one I’m giving you right now.”
The finality in her tone hits me square in the chest.
I don’t like it.
I don’t like the way her shoulders curl inward, like she’s bracing herself. I don’t like the shadow that slipped across her face when I said his name. I don’t like that she’s hiding something from me when all I want to do is drag the truth out into the open.
Because what I saw back there? That wasn’t just discomfort. That was history.
And I want to burn it down.
I force my voice lower, gentler. “Sweetheart—”
“Don’t,” she cuts me off. Her eyes finally lift to mine, and they’re sharper than glass. “Not tonight.”
I sit back slowly, muscles tight.
Every part of me wants to push. To demand answers. To remind her she’s mine now, and that means her past doesn’t get to walk back into her life without me knowing exactly why.
But she looks fragile at this moment—fragile in a way that’s dangerous for both of us.
And if I push too hard, I’ll break something I can’t fix.
So I nod once, swallowing the storm in my chest. “Not tonight.”
Her shoulders ease, just barely.
The silence stretches, and I let it.
Because one way or another, I’ll get the truth.
I always do.
But right now?
Right now, I’ll let her have the illusion of space.
Even if the thought of Elliott knowing anything about her—touching her, speaking to her, remembering her—makes my blood boil.
I’ll wait.
For tonight.
But tomorrow?
Tomorrow, he and I are going to have a problem.
In His Shirt
Sabrina
It’s past midnight, and we’re still sitting on the couch.
I don’t know how it happened. One question turned into another, and another, until hours passed without either of us noticing. He hasn’t once looked bored. Not one email, not one glance at his phone. Just him, leaning back, black shirt rolled at the sleeves, asking me about my favorite street in Chicago, the first time I ever broke a bone, the worst job I ever had.
It’s… easy. Too easy.
I haven’t felt this kind of calm with a man in years. Maybe ever.
