Something in my chest loosens.
I don’t know what to do with that.
“Thanks,” I say.
Grayson’s expression doesn’t change much, but his eyes do. Like he’s waiting for me to pick one specific thing.
I could list a hundred things.
For paying.
For not staring.
For not asking if I’m okay like I’m fragile.
For not making me feel like a problem.
I pick the safest truth.
“For making it simple.”
His mouth twitches. “Yeah.”
He shifts his weight like he’s about to leave, then pauses. His voice is almost casual but not quite. “If you hear something like that again…you can bail. You don’t have to power through it to prove anything.”
My eyes sting with unshed tears because I do that. I power through until I break because I think breaking completely while trying to hold yourself together is worse than suffering silently.
I nod once. “Okay.”
Grayson’s gaze holds mine for a beat.
Then he says, quieter, like he’s not trying to make it heavy but can’t help being honest, “I’m glad I was there.”
Butterflies erupt in my stomach, and I look away fast, not sure what to make of these feelings. “Me too.”
Silence sits between us for a beat before Grayson steps back, like he’s choosing not to crowd the moment.
“Text Weston you survived the bookstore,” he says, tone dry. “He’ll build a shrine.”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it.
Grayson’s mouth quirks like he’s satisfied, but he doesn’t make it a big deal.
He just nods. “Okay. Go. Before your brother hunts me down.”
My stomach flips at the reminder of Kai.
I nod. “Yeah.”
I turn to walk away. And I feel it—the shift in my body, the urge to look back. When I do, Grayson is still there, hands in his pockets, gaze on me like he’s making sure I get moving without feeling rushed.
I hate that it makes me feel…held.
I hate that I want more of it.
I turn back toward my dorm before my brain can turn that into a spiral too.
That night, Weston texts again.
