Instead, she tilts her head, her gaze steady as she watches me.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less. And I guess I’ll have to burn bright enough for both of us.”
My throat tightens, something sharp and hot behind my ribs.
Fuck.
“Little fire,” I breathe.
My hands curl into fists at my sides. The need to touch her is overwhelming—my fingers ache with it—but I don’t. Not with Carson a step away, watching, waiting, a silent wall between what I want and what I can’t have.
If I reach for her now, he’ll pull her back.
So I don’t move.
I just look at her.
Memorize her.
Let her words brand themselves across the broken, hidden parts of me.
Because if she really means it—if she burns for me the way I burn for her—then it’s already too late for all of them.
She’s mine.
And I’ll never let her go.
CHAPTER 47
Carson
I should not be findingone damn redeeming thing about this psychopath.
But here I am, standing on a Manhattan sidewalk, watching a guy I’ve threatened, pinned, and wanted to punch more times than I can count…and all I can think is?—
Fuck.
There’s something about the way he looks at her. Like she’s holy. Untouchable. Like he’d crawl through glass and hellfire just to be near her.
And she lets him.
Willow isn’t flinching. Isn’t guarding herself. Her whole posture is open, giving him space to speak, to breathe, to be something other than the monster we’ve painted him as.
I want to shove him into traffic.
But not because I think she’s in danger.
Because there’s a part of me—a quiet, uncomfortable part—that gets it.
He’s unhinged. But not wrong. Not about her. Not about needing her. I can see it now. I should know. I’m living it.
They don’t touch, and somehow it’s worse. Because shitgot emotional in the middle of a New York City sidewalk—deep and raw and real. There’s no hiding from it. No pretending that this thing between them is anything less than soul-level.
And it makes something ugly twist in my chest. Because I get it, I feel it too.
I wonder, for one stupid second, if I would’ve made the same choices he did—if I’d been locked away, forgotten, and erased.
If Graham hadn’t found me. Saved me. Given me a way out. Sure, I still have some emotional damage and drop back into my sarcasm when tension rises, but it’s all protection. But without Graham, maybe I would have turned out different.
