I nodded, because I couldn’t speak without shattering.
I looked down again at the photo—at Wyatt’s arm around my shoulders, at Jonesy’s grin, at my own bright face in the middle—and something deep inside me settled.
This wasn’t just a dinner.
This was a hinge point.
This was the universe handing me a moment so tender it hurt, like it was daring me to be brave enough to take the next step.
I drew a shaky breath, clutched the frame to my chest like it was a heartbeat, and looked at Wyatt over the edge of it.
His eyes didn’t move away.
The waiter approached with bread and water refills, but I barely registered him.
All I could see was Wyatt.
All I could feel was the truth rising in my throat, hot and unstoppable.
And I knew—absolutely knew—that after this, there was no going back to half-words.
Not after he’d handed me my brother.
Not after he’d let me hand him Valentine.
Not after we’d both just put our past on the table and dared each other to hold it.
I swallowed, steadying myself.
21
WYATT
Ilooked at her across the table, holding that photograph of Jonesy like it was oxygen, tears still wet on her cheeks catching candlelight, and something in me made a decision before my brain could stop it.
"Can we pretend?" I asked quietly.
She blinked, confusion flickering across her face. "Pretend what?"
"That the rest of the world doesn't exist. Just for tonight."
I knew it was the coward's way out. I knew I was avoiding everything—Klein showing up like a ghost from my past, Dominion Hall waiting for an answer I didn't know how to give, the fact that I'd planned to disappear, to let her go, to do the right thing for once by staying the hell away from her before I ruined her like I ruined everything I touched.
But I shoved that thought away hard, buried it somewhere deep where it couldn't reach me.
I wanted her. The girl I'd known. The woman she'd become. Right here. Right now. In this candlelit corner of Charleston where nothing else could touch us.
Tomorrow could destroy me. But tonight was mine.
Sophie gave me a look—uncertain, guarded, like she was trying to read between the lines, figure out what I was really asking, whether this was another retreat disguised as intimacy.
"What do you mean?" she asked carefully, her voice soft but steady.
I leaned closer across the table, close enough that I could smell her perfume—something floral and warm that made me want to bury my face in her neck. My voice dropped to something low and honest, rougher than I intended. "I want to be selfish tonight. I want you for myself. All for myself. No past. No future. No complications. Just ... this. Just us. Is that too big an ask?"
Her expression softened immediately, melting into something warm and open and trusting that made my chest ache, and when it did, I drooped inside.
Some part of me—some self-destructive, masochistic part that knew better—wished she'd tell me no. That this wasn't what she wanted. That she'd see through me and call me out, tell me to get my shit together before asking her for anything, before dragging her into whatever mess I was making of my life.
