“What?” he hissed, rubbing his shin.
“Fuck, I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to her.”
“Too bad. She’s coming.” He clapped his hands together, looking way too amused for my liking.
And then she appeared.
Michelle wore a dark green dress that hung above her knees, the fabric hugging her curves in all the right places. My body reacted before my brain could catch up, every muscle going tight at the sight of her. I had spent the past four days trying to erase the memory of how she felt, how she tasted, how she fit so perfectly against me.
But nothing about this felt erased.
It felt raw, fresh, like a wound I had barely begun to stitch up.
And then I saw her face. She looked exhausted.
Dark circles under her eyes, tension in her shoulders, the small crease in her forehead that only appeared when she was holding too much in.
My stomach twisted, the anger I had been holding onto slipping into something else. Something I didn’t want to name.
She made her way toward our booth, her gaze locked onto mine, hard and unreadable. But I saw it. The moment of hesitation
The moment she almost turned around and walked away.
She didn’t, though.
She kept coming.
And I had never been more terrified of what she was about to say.
Michelle stood rigid, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes darting toward the window like she was counting the exits, preparing to run. Every inch of her screamed fight or flight, and the fact that I had once been the safest place for her to land but wasn’t anymore fucking destroyed me.
“What are you two doing here?” Her voice was sharp, but underneath it was something else. Something frayed and fragile, held together by nothing but sheer will.
I didn’t hesitate. “We’re not done, Michelle.”
She let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “We are, Brooks. We’ve been done.”
“I’m calling bullshit on that.”
The words came out gritted, stubborn, full of every ounce of determination I had left. Every part of me wanted to pull her in, to touch her, to fix this, but I didn’t. Not yet. Not until she let me.
Her fingers dug into her arms, and she refused to look at me. “There’s someone else. I told you that.”
Liar.
But this time, I saw the cracks. The slight tremble of her lips, the way her nails picked relentlessly at the skin around her fingers, the way she refused to meet my eyes. I had missed the signs before, had walked away too damn fast.
I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
“So you called me to brag about it?” My voice dropped, the anger cooling into something calmer, deadlier. “I don’t believe you, and you know it. I know how you feel, even if you won’t say it.”
She inhaled sharply as I took a step closer, and for a split second, I saw the war flash across her face—the longing, the regret, the hesitation. Then, she shoved it all down, pressing her lips into a firm line.
I wasn’t giving her an out.
I pulled her against me, my arms wrapping tight around her, and for a moment, she let me. She let out a soft sigh, melting into my chest, her hands gripping the front of my shirt like she needed something to hold onto.
“Michelle,” I murmured into her hair
