He steps a fraction closer. “But I don’t hate you.”
We’re suddenly facing each other. Close. Too close. His hand is still on my arm, warm and grounding. His eyes flick to my mouth. Mine flick to his. Neither of us moves.
Electric. Unspoken. Pulling tight between us.
He seems to realize it all at once. He lets go like my skin burns him, steps back sharply, mutters something I can’t catch, then turns and walks down the steps.
Just—walks away.
I stand frozen on my porch, heart hammering, breath shaky.
“What the fuck was that?”
I press a hand to my chest.
Do I…
Do I have feelings for Mr. Grumpy-Stoic Ethan Maddox?
And holy hell—
Does he have feelings for me?
Chapter 10
Ethan
Idon’tgohome.
I make it halfway down the path before I realize I can’t walk into that house, not with Mum waiting to dissect every expression on my face, not with Charlotte’s knowing smirk, not with the ghost of almost kissing Lucky still burning behind my ribs.
The truck is closer than the front door. That’s reason enough.The key turns. The engine rumbles—a familiar, grounding sound that fills the space where breath should be. I pull out of the driveway before I’ve given myself permission to.
The lake drops behind me fast, swallowed by the early summer night. It’s not fully dark yet; the sky still holds a strip of cobalt at the horizon, the kind of not-night that feels suspended, like time hasn’t committed to anything. Crickets. Cool air is rushing in through the cracked window. The smell of wet earth from the rain earlier.
I don’t have a destination, just distance. Space. Noise that isn’t my own thoughts.
I almost kissed her.
Bloody ‘ell.
I drag a hand over my face, knuckles scraping my jaw. I can still feel the warmth of her breath, the way she tilted toward me without hesitation. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she trusted me.
And I stepped back.
Coward.
I take the road that winds out toward the old quarry. It’s quiet, deserted at this hour, and far enough from everything that no one will follow. It’s the one place that’s stayed unchanged since I was sixteen and furious at the world.
It’s where I used to go to make sense of things, when Lily finally fell asleep and I couldn’t.
And I had a lot of those nights.
Headlights sweep over broken gravel as I pull in. The pit is a dark bowl below, water collected at the bottom, still and black. The trees shift in the breeze, whispering.
I kill the engine. The sudden quiet hits like a punch.
I should get out. I don’t.
