And now, she’s kissing me back like she’s been waiting just as long, like she’s just as furious about it, and every single rule I’ve made myself follow for years disintegrates.
For half a second, the world narrows to her mouth and the taste of her and the sound she makes when I deepen the kiss—something between a gasp and a surrender that goes straight through me.
This is dangerous.
This is stupid.
This is Cameron’s sister, and I should stop, and I should pull back, and I should?—
She bites my bottom lip, and every coherent thought evaporates.
Fuck pretending I don’t want this, wanther, more than I want my next breath.
Then she pulls back just enough to breathe, eyes wide, lips parted, looking at me like I’m a problem she doesn’t know how to solve.
My forehead hovers near hers.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Sloane laughs—shaky, broken. “You’re the worst.”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I know.”
Her eyes flash, panicked now. “This doesn’t fix anything.”
“I know,” I say again, because it’s the only truth I can hold onto without breaking her.
Sloane swallows hard, then whispers, voice full of raw emotion. “Move.”
Not angry, just overwhelmed.
I step back immediately. Hands off the counter. Cage open. Space given.
She slips past me fast, like if she stays one more second she’ll do it again.
Her door clicks shut down the hall.
And I’m still standing there in Pops’s kitchen with my heart in my throat and the truth finally out in the open where it can’t hide.
From down the hall, Pops coughs once in his sleep.
A small sound but a brutal reminder.
I close my eyes, swallowing hard.
Because time is running out in this house.
And I just crossed a line I can’t uncross.
15
SLOANE
Iwake up angry, which is convenient, because anger is the only thing that holds me together at this point.
I stare at the ceiling, blink into the pale gray light leaking around the edges of my curtains, and breathe like I didn’t spend last night with Logan’s mouth on mine. Like my hands didn’t fist in his hoodie like I was trying to hold onto something I’ve spent two years pretending I don’t want.
The second lie is the way I move through my room like I’m not hyperaware of everything. Of my lips. Of the way my pulse keeps jumping for no reason. Of the fact that the air feels too loud in the quiet moments, like the house is listening.
