His face flinches.
That lands.
I wish it didn’t.
“No.” His grip tightens slightly on my waist. “By keeping you safe.”
“I don’t feel safe when you pull away without telling me why.”
His eyes squeeze shut for half a second.
When they open, something in them has cracked wide open. “I’m not good at this.”
“Clearly.”
His mouth twitches, but it’s broken around the edges. “I’m trying not to want things I shouldn’t want.”
My pulse stumbles. “What things?”
His gaze drops to my mouth. Then back to my eyes. “You.”
The word is quiet. Devastating.
My heart slams against my ribs. “Daltyn…”
He moves before I can say anything else.
One second, we’re standing there with all this hurt between us.
The next, his hands slide around my waist, and he hauls me against him.
His mouth crashes into mine. Not gentle. Not careful. Not controlled. This kiss is a week of silence detonating. A week of distance. A week of wanting and fear and everything he refused to say.
I gasp against his lips, and he takes it, kissing me deeper, harder, like he’s trying to apologize and claim and surrender all at once.
My fingers fist in his hoodie.
His hand slides into my hair. And for the first time all week, I can breathe.
I hear Allie gasp. “Holy shit.”
Daltyn freezes against my mouth.
I pull back just enough to stare up at him, breathless.
His forehead drops against mine. “Fuck,” he whispers.
I let out a shaky laugh. “That’s one word for it.”
His eyes stay closed for another second, like he’s trying to piece himself back together.
Then he looks at me.
And there it is again. The same look from the photo. The one that makes me feel like I’m the only thing he sees.
Connor’s voice breaks through the moment. “FAKE DATING, MY ASS.”
Daltyn’s jaw tightens.
