"Your wrists," he drawled, his voice rough. "You keep rubbing them."
I snatched my hand back, but it was too late. Realization dawned in his eyes. They widened, then darkened with recognition.
"Oh my God," I said.
His hand was still on my elbow, and I felt it tighten fractionally. "Ava?" The name came out strangled.
I couldn't speak. Could only stare at him as every detail clicked into place with devastating clarity.
The height. The build. Those hands that had known exactly how to touch me. The commanding edge in his voice had made me melt. The way he'd moved over me, inside me, like he'd known my body better than I did.
"Use your words. Tell me what you need."
He'd said that Saturday night. And I'd heard him say the same thing to Casey just yesterday at practice when she was trying to explain a new move.
How had I not seen it?
"I need to say something," I said quietly, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "About Saturday night. I left during aftercare."
His jaw tightened. "Yeah. You did."
"That was wrong. I'm sorry." The words came out in a rush. "I panicked. The scene was intense and perfect and overwhelming, and when you went to the bathroom, I ran.” I rushed to add on, “But that's on me, not you."
"I spent two days wondering if I'd fucked up somehow," he said, voice rough. "If I'd missed a signal or pushed too hard. If something I'd done had made you feel unsafe."
Guilt twisted in my chest. "You didn't. The scene was…" I swallowed hard. "It was exactly what I needed. You were exactly what I needed. But I wasn't ready to face what that meant. So, I violated protocol and left you to wonder. That wasn't fair to you."
He studied me for a long moment. "You're right. It wasn't." Then his expression softened slightly. "But you came back to apologize. That matters."
"Does it?"
"Yeah, Sadie. It does."
Easton
The world tilted sideways.
Ava. The woman who'd trusted me with her body, who'd surrendered so completely, who'd felt like coming home even though I didn't know her name.
It was Sadie.
It had been Sadie the entire time.
"Jesus Christ," I said, my mind racing back through every detail of Saturday night. The soft gasps. The way she'd responded to my touch. How right it had felt, like my body had known even when my mind didn't.
Because it had been her. All along.
"You…” Sadie's voice broke. "You didn't know?"
"No." My hand was still on her elbow, and I couldn't seem to let go. "I swear to God, Sadie, I didn’t know. The masks, the low lighting, Meredith used fake names—" I stopped, pieces falling into place. "That's why you felt so familiar. Why everything about that night felt different from any other scene I had ever done."
Her face had gone pale. "This can't be happening."
"But it is." I stepped closer without thinking, and she backed up against the shelving. "Sadie, it was you. You were there, and I…" I couldn't finish. I didn't know how to articulate what Saturday night had meant when I'd thought she was a stranger. Now that I knew the truth?
Everything.
It meant everything.
