His jaw clenches and he looks away. “How did you get here? I’m taking you home.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Where do you get the right?” My heart stands at attention and salutes over the constant heartbreak where he’s concerned.I didn’t deserve the shit Webber put me through, and now look at me. Dealing with similar shit from a different guy. But not for long.
“Ever since your mom died you’ve been trying to make decisions for me, but I’m over it. Done with you thinking you have a say over whether I can be near you or not. If I want to be here, there’s nothing you can do about it.”
I hop off the filing cabinet, pushing out of his immediate space, feeling one hundred percent fed up. Finn was right. Colson does have himself tied up with the wrong people, but I’m done trying to cater to a difficult person. Done being pushed and pulled and ripped in every goddamn direction like what I feel and want doesn’t matter.
It’s never been more obvious that he doesn’t want to fight for himself. He wants to fight forthem. For people who don’t give a damn. For people who wouldclapif they saw him sprawled out on the concrete, barely conscious.
It’s a punch to every organ in my body because if that’s what he cares about…then that means I’m not important enough for him to be better for. Sebastian isn’t important enough. Nor his aunt and uncle. We’re allmeaningless. But it also means he finds himself so undeserving of the fight of life—the most important one there is. I don’t know which breaks my heart the most.
He grabs my arm when I turn for the door. Finn’s sweatshirt slips off one of my shoulders. “You’re not going out there alone.”
I look back at him, tempted to get lost in his stormy eyes. “We’re not together anymore. You can’t tell me what to do.”
And then he walks into my space, crowding me with that stupid masculine scent of his that makes me dizzy. “Well aware of that, but it’s not me who’s following you, now is it?”
“Someone once told me he was protecting me when, instead, it felt like he was punishing me. Consider this as me doing the same.”
His hold loosens and his eyes drop to the exposed skin on my shoulder before settling on the thick fabric covering me. “Whose sweatshirt is this?”
I switch to a more appropriate question. “What are you doing fighting at a place like this with people who don’t give a damn about you?”
“Don’t change the subject.” His eyes flare but not with the good kind of heat. He grips the sleeve of the zip-up. “Who the hell does this belong to, and why are you wearing it?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He grinds his teeth and fists the black fabric tighter. It only ends up pulling us closer together. “Whose, Violet?”
“I don’t owe you an answer.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“How do you figure that?” My breath wanes with us so close, our mouths growing nearer to each other. If this was the past, he’d tug me close and slide his lips over mine. I would grant him access, and then he’d pour himself into me while also taking every last bit of me. He’d give me that throaty, masculine groan I got so used to hearing when he’d kiss me, and that’d be the end of it. We’d end up in each other’s arms with sweat-slicked skin.
“You’re the one who put a stop to us,” he murmurs in a weak tone.
I scoff. “No. You did that.Youbroke up withme.”
“Yeah, but you…” He bites down on his lower lip. As if he’s in pain. As if he doesn’t want to speak it into existence.
“Don’t flip this.” I push my palms against his chest. I’m not trying to shove him, but even if I were, he’d go nowhere. I just want more space between us. He’s too solid, and I’m too soft. We’re a mixture of hard muscles, intriguing eyes, and thumping pulses. I know my resolve won’t last forever. Not where he’s concerned.
“If you wanted me,” I swallow down a breath, “you could’ve had me. I would’ve given you all of me just like I was doing.”
I would have been there for you.
His bloody fingers come in between us as he unzips the sweatshirt. Then he brushes a knuckle down the center of my very-exposing top. “Even this?”
My tummy whooshes. The waves in his eyes crash into me without abandon. “Especially that,” I whisper.
The air shifts. The anger-filled tension turns physical and causes a line of fire where the pad of his finger trails. It hooks on the material of my top. A couple of inches lower, and he’d drag his rough finger directly over my nipple. My back arches of its own volition.
His blue, blustery eyes meet mine, and I see the question in them. But I also see the walls he has built. Allowing him a piece of me will do nothing to tear them down. Unless I find a way to pick away at the mortar, I can’t give myself up like this.
