That… did something to me.
Took the last thread of control I was holding and pulled it too tight. It wasn’t evenwhathe did—it washow. Quiet. Solid. No demand for explanation. No pity. Just a quiet offer to carry what I couldn’t hold. Didn’t want to hold.
And it nearly undid me.
I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat didn’t go anywhere.
“Thanks,” I managed. “For walking me out.”
His eyes didn’t leave mine.
There was somethingfiercebehind that quiet now. A low thrum of tension. Not protective, exactly.
Possessive.
I broke the eye contact first.
Not because I was afraid.
Because if I didn’t go now, I was going to fall apart in a parking garage with someone who sawtoo much.
My hand found the door handle. I pulled it open, every movement sharper than I meant it to be—becausetoo muchwas still too close.
“Wren,” Jay said, voice low.
I froze.
Just for a second.
It was stupid how hard it was to glance back at him—like the motion alone might unravel me. But I did it. I made myself do it. I even curved my mouth into something like a smile. Managed to summon a flicker of dry humor, because that was what Idid.
“Yes?”
His dark eyes were steady. “I’m here, if you need me.”
No push. No pressure. No expectation.
Just that rare, dangerous kind of kindness that didn’t ask anything in return.
“Remember that, okay?”
God.
It hit harder than if he’d reached out and touched me. Harder than scent. Than instinct. Than any primal drive still clawing under my skin.
And I wanted to joke—Iwantedto deflect with something clever and biting and perfectly dismissive, the way I always did.
But I didn’t want to make fun of what he’d just given me.
So I went with the truth. Quiet and small and barely hanging on.
“I will,” I said. “I’ll remember.”
It wasn’t much.
But it was all I had.
I climbed into the car, shut the door, and started the engine without letting myself look back.
