“Being here. Being my friend again. That helps more than you know.” His gaze dropped for a beat. “Plus, I need your signature, and you to come down. Physically. For the sale.”
I looked down at my half-eaten plate of pasta, my appetite long gone.
He didn’t see the way my hands still shook sometimes when I thought about that house. The way my lungs locked up at the idea of stepping inside it again, of facing the ghost of a girl I used to be. That place wasn’t just walls and furniture, it was everything I had tried so fucking hard to bury. The things whispered in the dark.
“I can’t go back there. That house... ” I paused, searching for air. “It still haunts me.”
There were some secrets I’d never said out loud. Some ghosts I wasn’t ready to name.
“I’m trying with this. I’m trying to be... ” I searched for the right word, then gave up and groaned. “Give me some time.”
“That’s what I promised you. I’ll give you time, but please think about the impact this could have on me, too. On what you’re asking if you don’t show.”
“I will,” I said quickly, meaning it with every part of me. “I promise.”
There was a pause—one of those loaded, lingering silences where it felt like if I said the wrong thing, I’d tip everything sideways again. So I didn’t say the wrong thing. I said the impulsive one.
“Can I see your apartment?”
“Luna... ” He dragged out my name like it was a warning.
“No, I swear! I just want to see where you are. Your space. That’s all.”
“This is going to be such a bad idea,” he muttered, tossing a few bills on the table.
“Or a really good one,” I shot back, grinning.
“God help me,” he grumbled but stood anyway, reaching down to tug me up with him by the wrist. “Come on. Let’s go ruin our progress.”
“Jer.” My mouth hung open as I took it all in. “This is... fucking amazing.”
His apartment, ironically, was across from Dirks’s place, though tucked back far enough that you’d never notice unless you were looking. It had a view of the city skyline that somehowdidn’t feel cold or out of reach. The moment I stepped inside, it was like the space wrapped its arms around me.
“I work part-time at a rehab center a few blocks away at the front desk,” he said as he locked the door behind us. “Doesn’t pay much, but it covers this place. It’s... comfortable.”
He wasn’t lying. The apartment had loft-style bones, exposed brick, high ceilings, big windows that let in the gray afternoon light, but he’d softened it with mismatched throw pillows, plants that were somehow still alive, and shelves crammed with old records and books. The couch was huge and so plush it practically begged you to fall into it. A hoodie was tossed over the arm, and an old mug with a chipped rim sat next to a candle that smelled faintly like cedar and vanilla.
I dropped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, arms splaying out like I’d just completed a marathon. “This doesn’t even compare to the guesthouse.”
Jeremy raised a brow and grabbed two cans of sparkling water.
“Don’t tell Dirks, but his place is too cold. This?” I glanced around, the warmth of the space settling into my bones. “This is amazing.”
Jeremy smirked and sat next to me on the couch. “You just like it because my heat works and there’s not an excess of hockey gear everywhere.”
“That too. This feels like you. Cozy chaos.”
He looked over at me with a small smile. “That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever called me a mess.”
Jeremy leaned back, arms crossed, that familiar heat in his stare returning as his eyes tracked the way I stretched out on his couch.
“So... ” He started a little hoarsely. “Dirks still your sub?”
My gaze flicked to his, and I nodded once.
His jaw tightened. “Do you miss someone dominating you?”
I nodded again.
