We fell asleep. Together. In his bed.
My heart kicks into overdrive. We've never done this. Every other time, one of us left afterward. Went back to our own room, our own space, maintained the pretense that this was just physical, just temporary.
But here I am. In his bed. I turn and take in his handsome face. He is relaxed in sleep, lips slightly parted, that furrow between his brows finally smoothed out.
Will he be upset when he wakes up?
I reach carefully for his phone on the nightstand. 7:23 a.m.
Oh god. Madison. What if she came looking for me early and found my room empty? What if—
Thorne stirs behind me, his arm tightening reflexively around my waist before his breathing changes. Waking up.
I know the exact moment awareness hits him. His entire body goes still, tension flooding back into muscles that were loose with sleep just seconds ago.
Then his eyes are open. They are unreadable in the morning light. For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
"We fell asleep," he finally says, his voice gravelly.
"We did." I search his face, looking for regret or panic. But all I see is that familiar wall sliding back into place. He knows I’m going to ask about yesterday. Where he went. What he did.
He doesn't pull away, but he’s retreating. His hand moves to my chin, thumb brushing my skin, and there's something almost sad in the gesture.
"What are you thinking about?" I murmur.
Everything in him tenses. "Nothing important."
I shift up on my elbow. "Where did you go last night?"
He closes his eyes. "It's better if you don't know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I can give you." He meets my gaze, and I can see the weight there. Whatever he did, wherever he went, it'seating at him. "I protected us. My family, our employees—you. If this blows back on anyone, it's my ass on the line. No one else's."
"Thorne—"
"Please, Ivy." His hand cups my cheek. "Trust me on this. You're an attorney. Some things... you're better off not knowing. I won't put you in that position."
Frustration bubbles up, tangled with hurt. He's shutting me out. Keeping secrets. And I’m not sure what to do, what demands to make.
I settle back against his chest, but the silence between us isn't comfortable. It's weighted with all the things we're not saying, all the questions I'm not asking.
He sits up suddenly, pulling back the sheet. "I don't want to be inside these walls right now. I need air. Movement."
My stomach drops. "Are you leaving?"
The question comes out weak, vulnerable. I hate it. But this is what I know. Ask for too much, need too much, and they leave. My mom did it. My friends did it. Even my father, in his own way.
He stops, really looks at me. I catch a flash of unguarded vulnerability. It almost looks as though the thought of leaving me actually hurts him.
"Come with me," he says quickly. "Let's go for a ride on the motorcycles."
The knots in my stomach unwind. He wants to leavewithme. “Are you serious?”
"Yeah. You and me and the road." A hint of that wicked grin surfaces. "I have something to show you anyway."
Despite the worry, the unanswered questions, the secrets between us, I smile back. "The bikes? Now?"
