“Don’t lie to me, boy!” A crash. Something hit the counter. “The footage was all over the networks. That ice didn’t justmelt. You nearly burned a hole straight through the damn rink!”
Cole’s silence was worse than his words.
“You were supposed to be bound,” his father continued, lower now, dangerous. “Your control was sealed. Do you have any idea what would happen if the wrong people saw that? If the Council did?”
“The binding’s holding,” Cole said through gritted teeth. “It was an accident. I got hurt, that’s all.”
“An accident?” His father scoffed. “You think the elders will see it that way? You think they’ll just ignore a public display of dragonfire in a human arena?”
I crept closer to the door, pulse hammering.Dragonfire.What the actual fuck? My stomach dropped.
“I’m coming back,” his father said finally, voice like flint. “And I’m bringing an elder. We’ll rebind you before you burn your entire life down and take the rest of us with it.”
“No.” Cole’s tone was quiet, steady, but there was something in it I’d never heard before. Steel. “I’m not letting you, Father.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I do now.”
A long pause followed. I could almost picture his father’s face, disbelief, then cold fury.
“You’ve clearly forgotten the hurt and shame you caused your mother,” he said finally, “but if you lose this deal for me, I’ll make what happened to you at school look like a picnic.”
I started grabbing clothes and shoving them in my old bag. I needed to get out of here, they were all fucking crazy. I had five thousand dollars, and I’d leave it with Ricky then just bail. Five thousand would get them another apartment, and as soon as I could, I would get my own and a job. I was yanking on my pants, ignoring the twinge in my ribs when I finally registered the now silent apartment, and I turned.
Cole stood staring at me, then his eyes dropped to the bag. He just nodded as if what I was doing was perfectly reasonable, then he whirled around and strode to the kitchen. I heard the apartment door slam again and knew Cole had gone.
He’d gone without any sort of explanation.
But then I looked down at the jeans I was holding in my hands. The ones I was just going to stuff into my bag.
Because I was going to run out on him. My knees buckled on their own, and I sank to the bed.
His expression. His posture? It had been defeated, like he expected nothing less.
I sat there, the jeans limp in my hands, and stared at the space where he’d stood. The bag, half packed and ugly, gaped on the bed. My chest hurt worse than my ribs. Worse than any bruise or break. Because all I could see was the look on his face, the way he hadn’t even tried to stop me. Like he’d already decided I was going to run.
Like I always did.
It should have made it easier. If he didn’t care, I could just walk. I could take the painkillers, the five thousand, and the guilt, and just vanish. Leave a note, or not. It wouldn’t matter. He’d half expect it. Maybe the only surprise was that I’d waited this long.
But I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t fucking do it. Not after last night. Not after the way I’d held him, the way he’d come undone in my arms. The way he’d come back from a game bruised and empty, and I’d been the one he wanted to curl up with, like I was something worth coming home to.
I didn’t understand what was going on. I mean,dragons? It was like some weird sci-fi TV show. It couldn’t be real. It was impossible…but then the look in his eyes had been very real. When he knew I was leaving him. He’d expected it, so I knew it hadn’t been the first time someone had turned their back on him.
I pressed my fists to my eyes, hard, willing the tears not to fall. Pathetic. I was pathetic. But the truth was, I wanted to stay. I wanted to try. I didn’t want to be the person he’d already written off, the one who always left when things got hard.
My hands shook as I dumped the clothes out of the bag, one by one. I shoved them into the drawer, not caring that they didn’t belong to me, not caring that the shirts were too big or the sweats hung off my hips. I didn’t want to look at the bag. I didn’t want to look at anything that reminded me how easy it would be to run.
The envelope burned in my pocket, heavy and damning. I wanted to tear it up, flush the bills down the toilet, but I couldn’t. Ricky needed it. The baby needed it. I was still stuck. Still trapped. But that didn’t mean I had to run. Not yet.
I made the bed, hands clumsy and slow. I smoothed the sheets twice, three times, because I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Cole had held me last night. Like he never wanted to let me go.
I wandered to the kitchen. The place was silent, cold, but I could still feel the echo of his presence everywhere. The mug I’d used last night was still by the sink. I washed it, rinsed it twice, set it on a towel to dry. I couldn’t leave a mess. I couldn’t leave anything for him to trip over when he came back.
I stood there for a long time, just holding the edge of the counter, staring at nothing. The words from the corridor wouldn’t leave me alone.
