Izzy sees the movement. Her eyes follow my hand.
Then they flick to Noah. Then back to me.
The silence between us changes.
I’ve wanted to stay out of this. Of her life, her pure world of light. I’ve been content following her at a distance, making sure she was safe, that her kid was safe.
But Noah isn’t justherkid.
And that changes everything.
“We need to talk.”
9
IZZY
SEVEN YEARS AGO
The club pulses with bass so deep it rattles the bones in my chest. Lights flash across the dance floor in bursts of neon and shadow, bodies moving together in that messy, chaotic rhythm that only exists after midnight.
I am nineteen and feeling immortal.
Which, in hindsight, should have been my first clue the night was going to go sideways.
Sweat slicks my skin as I dance, my hair sticking to the back of my neck. The music vibrates through the floor, through my ribs, through the soles of my boots. It feels like the whole room is alive and breathing.
And for a few minutes, I forget about everything else.
No rent.
No bills.
No disappearing father and exhausted mother working double shifts, while I’m out here enjoying the music, motion and the feeling that tonight belongs to me.
That illusion lasts about thirty seconds.
A hand clamps around my wrist—hard.
I turn and find a guy leaning way too close. Mid-twenties maybe, shirt half unbuttoned, breath sour with beer and bad decisions.
"Come on, babe," he slurs. "Let's find somewhere quiet."
He starts dragging me toward the back of the club.
My brain switches from fun mode to survival mode instantly.
"No," I say, twisting my arm. "Let go."
He laughs like that's adorable.
He shoves a door open and pulls me into a private room. The music muffles behind the walls, turning into a dull thud. The door slams shut behind us.
And suddenly it's very clear I'm alone with someone who does not care what I want.
His hands grab at my shirt.
"Stop," I say sharply.
