My chest hurts, but I push through.
"He barely manages to work. He rushes back home every evening to be with her. Getting a second job is out of the question. But we have bills. My college fund went with medicalexpenses, but at least the debts are paid off. I handle rent so he can focus on food and utilities."
I hesitate—then say the part I never say out loud.
"Jordan, I’m tired of being responsible. I want to have fun. But I can’t afford to make mistakes either. My family wouldn’t survive them."
"Sabrina."
Suddenly I feel ashamed for vomiting all my problems. I shake my head. "I—I'm sorry. God, I don't mean to sound so ungrateful. I don't want you to think—"
Jordan cups my jaw, his gaze burning into mine like twin coals. "Baby."
My lids fall shut. "Don't," I whisper.
"Don't what? See you? Too late."
My hands rise on instinct, wrapping around his thick wrists. For long moments, we stay like that—his warmth imprinting into my skin, my pulse loud everywhere.
"Jordan," I whisper again, my voice breaking.
"I see you, Bree." He brushes his thumbs over my cheekbones, wiping the moisture away. "Your passion. Your selflessness." His voice lowers. "You're someone who understands what it costs to hold a life together. You are so much more than you realize. You're incredible."
For one suspended moment, the world goes quiet and there's just him and me.
Suddenly, headlights flare at the end of the street, too fast, too close. Jordan wraps an arm around me, spinning so he's between me and the road, pulling me into his body as the car rushes by.
Heat. Solid muscle. His cologne and something more, earthier. The scent of his skin.
The car passes, but he holds me for several moments longer.
"Are you okay?" he rasps.
I nod.
He releases me and steps back—but the damage is already done. Because now I don’t just know his deepest fears mirror mine—I know how it feels to be in his arms. And that terrifies me far more than anything.
We resume our walk in silence, the kind that holds meaning instead of emptiness. Two people from different worlds, somehow meeting in the same ache.
The fork in the road approaches too quickly.
"You have to stop here. My house is just a block down. My dad—he can’t see you."
Jordan’s lips twitch. "Why? Because I’m a scary customer?"
"No," I mutter. "Because he’ll skin me alive for even looking at his boss."
Jordan laughs—and God, the sound curls through me like smoke. Then he steps closer. To my utter mortification, my nipples tighten to achy points. Too confused and overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through me, I step back.
Jordan stops, his brow knitting at my sudden withdrawal. "You can trust me, Sabrina. You know that."
Yes, I know. But I can't trust myself around you.
"What do you really want from me, Jordan?"
He grins. "Other than a small slice of heaven?"
My heart skips at my own words thrown back at me. "Jordan—"
