“I can’t,” I say, breath rough.“Fuck—I want this.I want you.But not like this.Not if it turns us into something that might hurt her in the long run.”
He stares at me, chest rising fast, eyes dark and glossy with want.“You think this doesn’t already hurt?”
“It will if we don’t stop,” I say quietly.“If I cross that line again without knowing where we all stand, I’ll ruin it.I’ll ruin us—again.”
Silence stretches between us, thick with everything we didn’t finish.
Callaway drags a hand through his hair, jaw tight, still hard, still close enough that I can smell him.“You’re killing me.”
“I know,” I admit.“You’re doing the same to me.”
He steps back at last, putting space between our bodies even though neither of us wants it.“This isn’t over,” he says.“We have to work this through.”
I nod, because he’s right.
But right now we have to stop—wanting him isn’t the problem.It’s figuring out how to want him without destroying the only two people I’ve ever wanted to keep.
ChapterThirty-Four
Alberto
My legs are still humming from the run when I walk back in—lungs clean, sweat cooling, head quiet the way it only gets quiet when I push my body hard enough to drown everything else out.
It lasts exactly three seconds.
Vesper is on the couch, wrapped in a blanket like she’s trying to keep herself from unraveling.Her hair is up in a careless knot.
“Where’s Cally?”she asks.
Of course that’s her first question.
NotHow was your run?NotDid you sleep?NotAre you okay?She asks about him, like she can feel the absence in the room the way you feel a missing tooth with your tongue.
It shouldn’t bother me, but it does, because what she’s asking between the lines isDid you kick him out last night?
“He was asleep when I left,” I say, pointing at the same spot on the couch where she’s sitting, like evidence will solve this.
Her gaze narrows.“I knew there was a reason the sheets were cold.”She tilts her head, voice sweet in a way that means danger.“Did you drag him out of my room?”
I exhale through my nose.“Why would you think I’d do something like that?”
She looks at me like I’m a math problem she’s already solved.“Because you’ve been ...hostile.”
“Me?”I scoff.“And he’s been what, polite?”
Vesper’s mouth twitches like she wants to laugh and also wants to scream.“No.But at least he’s trying.”
“To do what?”I ask, and it comes out sharper than I mean.“To fuck with my head?Yeah.He’s excellent at that.”
Her eyes flash.“He’s trying to smooth things over.When you close yourself off, he pushes you.”
I shouldn’t argue with her.
I should sit down.I should soften.I should be the man she deserves in a moment like this.
But my chest is already tight, my thoughts already circling the same ugly orbit: Callaway in her bed, Callaway in her space, Callaway being the version of love that doesn’t require silence.
“He’s trying to win,” I say.
