He gets out and slams the door hard enough that a couple people walking toward the café glance over.
He doesn’t care.
He never does when it’s about me.
He yanks open my passenger door and slides in like he owns the space, breathing hard like he ran here.
“What’s going on?” he demands.
My throat tightens.
The truth sits behind my teeth like it’s too big for my mouth.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper.
His whole posture goes rigid.
“Do what?” he asks, but his voice is quieter now. Controlled. Like he already knows the answer and doesn’t want to hear it.
I swallow hard. “Keep it in.”
Griff stares at me. Then his jaw clenches so hard it looks painful. “No,” he says immediately.
I blink. “Griff—”
“No,” he repeats, sharper. “Absolutely not.”
My chest tightens. “You don’t get to decide—”
“I do when it gets you destroyed,” he snaps, turning toward me fully. His eyes are furious, but there’s fear under it. Real fear. “You tell the truth and you blow up everything. You think you’re ready for that?”
“Yes,” I say, even though my voice shakes. “Because I’m already living in it.”
Griff scrubs a hand over his face, breathing out hard.
“Okay,” he says, voice low now. “Talk to me. What happened in there?”
I flinch. Because it’s not what happened in there.
It’s who. “Knox,” I admit.
Griff stills. His gaze sharpens. “He say something?”
“No,” I whisper. “He doesn’t know anything. Just seeing him reminded me of what I’ve been keeping from everyone. Of everyone I’ve hurt by lying.”
Griff leans back against the seat, eyes squeezed shut for a beat like he’s trying to hold himself together.
“Jesus,” he mutters.
I stare at him. “I saw him and it hit me all at once. That I’m not protecting anyone anymore. I’m just letting it rot.”
Griff’s eyes snap open. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I do.” My voice cracks. “Jace is already unraveling. Knox looks at me like he still thinks I’m worth saving.” I swallow hard. “And Sarah is about to step into all of it without knowing the ground is already unstable.”
Griff’s mouth tightens. “He is not part of this conversation.”
“He is,” I snap, the edge in my voice surprising even me. “He’s part of everything I’m trying not to admit.”
