“Why not?” His voice rose, frustration laced through every word. “Because of your dad? Because of the press? Because of some bullshit rule you made up when you were sixteen?”
I clenched my jaw. “Because it’s reckless.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
“Vi.” He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.
“No. You can’t argue me into this.”
His eyes locked onto mine, something raw and desperate in their depths. “Why not?”
“Because I’m right.”
He huffed out a dry, humorless laugh. “So I’m just supposed to pretend this doesn’t mean anything?”
“Yes.”
His expression darkened. “That is not happening.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“That’s not true.”
He took a step forward, drawing closer than he should. Close enough that the warmth of him curled around me. Close enough that if I breathed wrong, I might lean into it.
“I want you,” he whispered.
He lifted his hand, fingers skimming along my jaw, tilting my face up until there was nowhere else to look but at him. His thumb traced lightly over my cheek.
“I don’t care how many excuses you throw at me. I know what I want.”
His gaze dropped to Hazel, her delicate hand curled against the fabric of the shirt I’d stolen. His expression softened, longing wrapping around the edges of his frustration like he was seeing something he wanted so badly it hurt.
My throat closed.
Hazel let out a tiny, sleepy sigh, burrowing closer.
I lifted my chin, holding onto the only thing keeping me from slipping under his pull. “And I know what I can’t have.”
His thumb paused at my cheekbone, as if memorizing the shape of me before he blew out a frustrated breath and stepped back with a grimace.
“Right.”
Griffin’s shoulders dropped, the fight draining out of him like air from a punctured tire. No sharp comeback, no lingering look, no last attempt to change my mind. He just turned, walked into the bedroom, and shut the door.
I rocked Hazel, pressing my lips to her head, inhaling the soft, familiar scent of baby lotion, grounding myself in something solid.
Even as everything inside me threatened to break apart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
GRIFFIN
The car snapped sideways, the rear stepping out violently, and before I could catch it, the sim jolted hard. The wheel wrenched in my grip, the force feedback nearly yanking it from my hands as the massive screens in front of me flickered black.
“Bollocks!” My voice echoed through the dimly lit room, raw with frustration.
