I close my eyes to savor it.Let it crawl into the cracks I pretend don’t exist.Every syllable, every whisper of breath.Her voice is low, soft, the kind of soft that fucks you up because it’s too familiar.Too dangerous.It’s my home wrapped in a sound I swore I’d never need again.And fuck...just hearing it, I already know that I’m not walking away from her this time.
When I open my eyes, I see her, moving across the room like a dream I’m scared to wake from.She’s wearing the sweatshirt.The one I bought for her.
The sleeves swallow her hands.The hem brushes the tops of her thighs, hanging off her frame—too big, too soft.Too much of a reminder of safety I can’t offer anymore.It fucking hurts, because it reminds me of how she used to steal mine.How she’d pull it over her body just to breathe me in, as if my scent could shield her from the world.
Her hair’s a mess, loose, wild, beautiful in the way chaos always is.Tangled from sleep, or from the way she runs her fingers through it when she’s lost in thought… tugging, twisting, like if she pulls hard enough, the answers she’s chasing will finally fall out.
It’s the kind of mess I want to smooth out with my hands.The kind of mess I want to sink into just to feel her lean into me again.To pretend, for one fucking second, that nothing’s broken beyond repair.
She moves toward me, barefoot, silent.But every step lands heavy against my ribs, beating through me like a war drum.Each one hits harder than the last because it’s her.
Her eyes lock on mine, cutting past skin and scars, slicing straight into the wreckage I never managed to bury.
She has no idea what it costs me to meet her gaze and not fall the fuck apart.Or what it takes not to drag her into me and never let go.
She stops in front of me.
Close enough that I can feel her heat bleeding into the space between us.That every broken part of me aches to touch her.Close enough to wreck me, if she hasn’t already.
And fuck, I want to pull her in.Drag her onto my lap, claim every inch of her, because she is mine.Always has been.
I want to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in until there’s nothing left of the world but the way she smells.I want to feel her.All soft curves and quiet strength pressed against me, grounding the hunger I live with every second of every day that I’ve survived without her.
I want to say something, but the words stick in my throat.If I let her in now, even for a second, I’ll fall.And this time, there’s no way back.
I look away.My jaw’s clenched so hard my teeth might splinter.My heart slams against my ribs, furious, desperate to break free.
My fingers curl tighter around the glass.Whiskey scorches down my throat, pretending it can fix me.But it doesn’t touch this.Doesn’t touch her.Doesn’t touch the wreckage she leaves behind just by looking at me.
My hands ache to touch her.My mouth itches to taste her again.To bite.To claim.But I can’t move.I stay frozen, gripping the glass like it’s the only thing keeping me from hauling her into my lap and showing her exactly how close to breaking I am.
She takes another step closer.
I feel her heat, her pull, like gravity’s got her name carved into my fucking bones.
“Look at me,” she says.Her voice slices right through every defense I still have left.
I don’t move.
I can’t let myself, because one look… one goddamn glance into those eyes and she’ll have all of me again.
But Emery’s never been patient.Never been the kind to wait for the pieces to fall neatly into her hands.
She moves in, and the ground shifts beneath me.Every step tears the fight straight out of my chest, one fucking breath at a time.
Her hand comes up, fingers curling around my jaw, forcing my head toward her, forcing my eyes to crash into hers.
And fuck… just that touch, just that heat against my skin, wrecks me harder than any bullet ever could.
My jaw tightens beneath her touch, every muscle in my body wound tight, coiled like a wire stretched to its breaking point.My heart slams against my ribs as I meet her gaze, my resolve cracking wide open under the weight of her stare.
“I want to find my father,” she says, voice splintering, a sound that slices straight through me.
It’s more than pain.It’s betrayal, confusion, desperation—all tangled and spilling out of her, a wound I can’t stitch closed.
“I want to know why he sold me out,” she says.
I catch her hand and pull it away from my face, needing the distance the way a drowning man needs air.Because if she keeps touching me, I’ll fucking break.And breaking?That’s a luxury I can’t afford anymore.
