Cally goes still.Not calm.Controlled.Like he’s gripping a railing inside himself.
“What did you just say?”His voice has an edge I don’t like.
“Your parents would do something like that,” I repeat, slower, because I want it to sink in.Because part of me wants to see if he’ll crack and tell me he’s the one who just pulled that stupid stunt.
“Fuck,” he breathes, and his gaze drops to his phone like it just turned into a weapon.
“Fuck?”I arch a brow.“You want to share with the class?”
His throat works.He swallows once.“My parents have been pushing for me to retire.Take over the family business.Go back to Greenwich.Marry into the life they picked for me—before I rebelled and chose to play hockey for a living, like a thug.”He laughs once, humorless.“They’ve been losing their minds over this trade.”
“You think this was them?”I ask, even though I already feel the answer crawling up my spine.
He lifts a shoulder.“When have you ever seen reporters waiting for hockey players outside a fucking apartment building?”
I stare out the window at the rain-slick streets, at the city sliding past like it doesn’t care.“Unlike you, I’ve never dated a model or an actress.So I wouldn’t know.”
His mouth tilts, because he can’t help himself.Because Cally uses flirtation like a knife and a shield.
“You keeping tabs on me, Monty?”he murmurs.
The nickname is soft.Almost sweet.
A trap dressed in velvet.
Then quieter, slithering under my skin like a memory I never buried deep enough, “You jealous, sweetheart?”
I should ignore him.
God, I should.
But everything in me tightens—core to throat, muscle to memory.Because my body doesn’t know how to lie where he’s concerned.
Not after those nights.
Not after Vesper—her head on my chest, his breath on my neck, her laughter between us like a spell.
Not after the first time he kissed me like he hated me for wanting it too.
Not after he groaned into my mouth like we could burn the world down together if we just kept going.
And I know what he’s doing now.
I know the way he weaponizes want.
But the worst part is how badly I want him to.
Because what we had—what we were—was neverjustabout her.
It was about us.
Callaway and I—and our Vesper.
We were two boys who didn’t know how to love anything without ruining it.And we ruined each other’s best.
So no.
This isn’t fear.
