I don’t.
I carry her out of the shower instead.
Water drips from our bodies, soaking the carpet as I carry her across the room to the bed.
We fall onto the mattress, a tangle of limbs and heat. I’m over her, pinning her wrists to the pillow, needing to see her face. Her eyes are blown wide, dark green, and wrecking me.
The heat between us burns brighter now that there’s no space left to pretend this isn’t happening. My hands frame her face, forcing her to look at me.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” I warn, voice wrecked. “This makes everything worse.”
Her hands slide up my arms, anchoring me, steady and sure.
“I don’t want fixed,” she says softly. “I want you.”
The words land harder than any order.
I kiss her again—slower this time, deeper, like I’m finally allowing myself to feel everything I’ve been denying. Her breathstutters against my mouth. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, holding me there like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
And just like that, Halo is gone.
There’s only heat, need, and hunger.
And neither of us is backing down.
“We compromised the perimeter.”
She laughs, a soft, tired sound. “The door is locked, Halo.”
“The internal perimeter,” I correct. “My head.”
She looks up at me. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Ask me tomorrow.” I kiss her forehead.
But right now?
Right now, it feels like the only right thing I’ve done in years.
ELEVEN
“The Mirror”
CASSIE
I wakein a tangle of sheets and limbs.
The room is still dim, but a sliver of morning light cuts across the carpet.
Halo—Diego—is asleep.
He’s lying on his stomach, one arm thrown over his head, the other draped heavily across my waist. His face is turned toward me, pressed into the pillow. The harsh lines of tension around his eyes are smoothed out.
He looks—peaceful.
I study him for a long time. The rise and fall of his chest. The scars that map his history—the burn on his hand, the puckered star of a bullet wound on his shoulder.
Last night was …
