I think about Evie’s letter.
If you ever find the place you can breathe again, don’t run from it.
I exhale slowly.
“If I stay,” I say carefully, “it’s because I choose to. Not because you cornered me.”
Ryder’s gaze softens by a fraction. “You choose.”
“I work because I want to,” I continue. “Not because you need leverage.”
“Agreed.”
“And if I decide to leave?”
His jaw tightens. Just slightly.
“Then we reassess,” he says.
That’s not a promise.
But it’s not a cage either.
I look at the three of them.
At the scars.
At the tension.
At the fact that none of them are laughing anymore.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Zane
“Don’tyou dare drip on my boots.”
“I’m not… Zane!”
Too late.
The roller jerks sideways, and a streak of warm amber paint arcs through the air. It misses my boots. Does not miss my jeans.
Aurora freezes.
I look down at the fresh stripe across my thigh.
She slaps a hand over her mouth.
Then she laughs.
We’ve been painting for a week. The place smells of primer and citrus cleaner and whatever candle she insisted on lighting yesterday because, and again I quote, “construction dust has a personality, and I don’t like it.”
The back wall’s done. Stage area’s done. Today we’re finishing the last stretch near the windows.
I drag the roller slowly down the paneling, watching the old dark stain disappear under the new warm color.
“Vibes are defensive,” she’d said.
