She shoves my chest. “I’m not running. I’m surviving.”
I let her shove me.
I deserve worse.
“And I’m trying to help you survive,” I say. “But you won’t even give me the chance.”
She goes to shove me again and I catch her wrists, gently, carefully, like she’s glass and I’m already cracked.
“Tell me how to fix it,” I whisper. “Tell me what to do.”
Her eyes shine. She blinks fast, furious with herself for it.
“You can’t fix it,” she says. “You can’t undo what you did.”
“I can try.”
“It’s too late.”
“No. It isn’t.”
I lean in without touching her. Just close enough to feel her shake in the cold.
She whispers, “Don’t you dare kiss me.”
The warning hits like a bucket of ice water.
I freeze.
Every cell in my body screaming to close the inches between us.
She steps back.
“This isn’t the old Jade,” she says. “The one who forgave everything. The one who believed everything you said.”
My throat closes.
She walks toward the house, not looking back.
“This new Jade?” she throws over her shoulder. “She doesn’t run. And she doesn’t break.”
The door slams behind her.
I stand in the cold, fists clenched, chest burning.
I want to scream.
Punch something.
Kiss her.
Shake her.
Hold her.
All of it. None of it.
I drag my hands through my hair, breathing hard.
