“I don’t calculate,” he says. “I decide.”
Heat floods my veins. “You sound very sure of yourself.”
“I am.”
My pulse pounds in my ears. “You don’t own me, Levi.”
“No,” he agrees quietly. “But I never stopped wanting to.”
That steals my breath completely.
I swallow.
“You don’t get to rewrite history just because you feel possessive in a closet.”
“I’m not rewriting anything.”
“Then what are you doing?”
He exhales slowly. “I’m trying not to drag you against this wall.”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
His fingers flex against my waist. “Sadie,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, “you keep daring me.”
“I’m not daring you.”
“You show up in my town. You kiss me on a baseball field. You look at me like you remember every inch of me. That’s a dare.”
The darkness vibrates between us. My chest brushes his when I breathe.
“Maybe I do remember,” I whisper.
His hand stills. “Then stop acting surprised when I do too.”
My mind races. “You were the one who let me go.”
“You wanted out.”
“I wanted more.”
“You wanted the world.”
“I wanted you to fight for me.”
The words hang between us, raw and exposed. His grip softens.
“I was eighteen,” he says quietly. “I thought loving you meant not holding you back.”
“And I thought leaving meant you didn’t want me enough.”
Silence. Heavy. His forehead rests against mine in the dark.
“That’s not what it meant,” he says.
“Then what did it mean?”
