I take her by the arm, holding up her wrist. The lingering bruise, now green and fading, is highlighted by the moon.
Her eyes slowly pan to the evidence.
“Did he do this to you?” The question comes out raw, laced with heartbreak. Because I already know the answer. I just need her to say it out loud.
Her mouth parts, but the words get caught. Trapped behind chattering teeth and pride and fear. I watch the shame flicker across her face.
Then she pulls her wrist back like I burned her. “It wasn’t… He didn’t mean to.”
My stomach caves in. “Annalise.”
She shakes her head and steps back. “It was just an accident.”
“That is not an accident. If someone hurts you, you don’t stay. You don’t make excuses for them. You walk away.” Anguish courses through me, fracturing my thoughts, my waning willpower. “I would never hurt you.”
A stuttered breath. “I know.”
“This is killing me too,” I confess.
Her tears mingle with rainwater.
The downpour intensifies, beating down in savage rivers.
Annie wraps her arms around her body, her tank and leggings soaked through. “It’s always been Alex,” she whispers, voice hardly penetrating the storm. “He was my first kiss. First dance. He taught me how to ride a bike, how to read, how to braid my goddamn hair.” Her lips tremble. “He was there when I broke my arm roller skating. When my parents moved away. When my grandma died. He’s in everything. Every memory, every scar. I don’t know how to let that go.”
I shake my head. “Listen to what you’re saying.”
“I am listening—”
“You’re giving me examples of your past,” I say, advancing on her, my boots slapping against puddles as my pulse climbs with every breath. “Tell me about now. Tell me about the person who’s supporting your dreams, making music with you, begging you to believe in all that you are. Because you’re brilliant, Annie. Absolutely brilliant in every way.” I close the space between us until we’re nearly chest to chest. “Does he tell you that?”
She goes to speak, but nothing comes out.
I keep going, handing her my heart like it’s the only thing I have left. “Does he listen to your songs andfeelthem? Does he stay up all night obsessing over lyrics just because they mean something to you? Does he hear your voice and know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it’s the one thing in the world that makes him feel alive?”
“Chase…”
“I know I’m being selfish. I know. And you’re right, it’s not fair.” I steeple my hands as rain breaches my collar, streaming down my back. “But I’m done being the martyr. The bystander. The nice guy. I want you so badly it fucking hurts.”
She gapes at me, lashes dappled in raindrops.
The deluge rages on around us, inside us, reflecting in her tortured eyes.
“Don’t give me history,” I plead, forcing out the final words. “Give me the present. Give me right now.”
I don’t touch her. Don’t reach for her.
Just wait.
I refuse to be the reason she resents this. If she gives in, it has to because she wants to. Needs to. Because there’s no other choice.
Lightning flashes, but she doesn’t flinch. Thunder booms overhead, the rain relentless and sharp. Her chest heaves, gaze transfixed on mine.
Then her focus slips. Settles on my mouth.
Her pupils blow wide.
The storm moves through me like a drug, and I know what’s coming next.
