Mom stood too, reaching out to catch my arm before I could bolt fully into motion. “Dean.” I stopped, and her expression softened when she saw mine. “Go,” she said quietly.
Panic caught in my throat. “I’ll call you later.”
“You better.” Her eyes grew warm. “Sweetheart?”
“Yeah?”
Whatever teasing curiosity she’d carried earlier was completely gone now.
“What matters most?” she asked, her voice gentle. “Take care of it. And I hope he’s okay.”
I nodded, and then I was already moving, striding fast across the hotel lobby while my pulse climbed with every second.
Another message buzzed against my palm before I even reached the doors.
I should not have come to you.
I stared at the words.
Notmessaged—come to you.As if reaching for me had been the mistake.
I stopped dead in the middle of the revolving entrance, the door bumping my butt as my thumbs slid over the screen.
Too late. I’m already coming to find you.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Luka
I walked brisklythrough the Village, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes, following an invisible path that led to Dean’s door.
The Metro ride had been a mistake. Twenty minutes trapped with my own thoughts had given me far too much time to rehearse what I was going to say. I’d constructed entire conversations, logical explanations, careful warnings. Versions where Dean understood immediately. Versions where he argued.
Versions where I somehow made this hurt less.
Every single one fell apart the moment I imagined saying it aloud.
By the time I reached his building, my stomach felt hollow.
Dean’s corridor was quiet, but bursts of laughter filtered through the open window from the courtyard below. Somewhere a door slammed. Someone shouted a greeting in a language I didn’t recognize.
Meanwhile, my life seemed to be narrowing toward a single door.
When I reached it, I stopped. My hand refused to move. My pulse hammered.
I should leave. Wait until after competition, until there is less to lose.
Wait until I can think clearly again.
Except I already knew that was a lie. Tomorrow would not make this easier. Neither would next week, or next month.
My chest tightened and I closed my eyes for a second.
And suddenly there was nowhere left to run.
I knocked, and the door opened.
Dean’s hair was a mess, as if he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly. He tugged me into the room and closed the door. Then his hands were on my face, my neck, and he was staring at me intently, as though assessing me for damage.
