“You’re a fucking mess, Isa Calloway,” I murmured against her hair, voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “And I’m probably twice as stupid for wanting you anyway.”
She didn’t answer. Just kept breathing, slow and trusting, like even in sleep she knew I wasn’t going to hurt her.
I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead to the back of her head.
I didn’t know what tomorrow was going to look like. I didn’t know if she was going to wake up and pull away, try to rebuild the walls she’d let me knock down tonight. I didn’t know if she was going to keep chasing a guy who had already chosen himself over both of us.
But I knew one thing for certain.
I was done standing on the sidelines.
Not while she was still hurting. Not while she was still pretending her body didn’t light up for me the second I touched her. Not while there was even a chance she could want me back if she just let herself.
I was done watching her break herself over Tristan Vale.
If she was going to keep running, fine.
But this time, I was running after her.
And I had no intention of letting her get away. I picked her up gently and carried her off to my bed… the one she always belonged in.
I snuggled in closer, one arm sliding under her pillow so I could pull her fully against my chest. She made a soft sound in her sleep and settled back into me like she belonged there. I let out a long, slow sigh against the back of her neck, breathing her in one last time.
For the first time in months, I actually slept.
Deep. Heavy. No tossing. No waking up at three a.m. thinking about her with another guy. Just her warm body tucked into mine and the steady rhythm of her breathing pulling me under.
When I woke up, the sun was barely up. Pale gray light was leaking through the blinds. The first thing I noticed was the flowery smell.
Her.
Sweet and warm and a little like rain. For one stupid second I smiled into the pillow, still half-asleep, reaching out for her.
My hand landed on cold sheets.
I opened my eyes.
She was gone.
The spot where she’d been was empty. The blanket was folded back like she’d tried to make it neat on her way out. The only proof she’d even been here was the faint smell of her on my pillow.
Like a fucking dream.
Like a ghost who’d slipped out before the sun came up and pretended none of it had happened.
My hands fisted in the sheets. Hard. I sat up, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
I was mad.
Not just annoyed. Not just frustrated. Straight-up pissed.
I’d had plans. Stupid, soft plans I hadn’t even realized I was making until right now. I was gonna wake her up slow. Make her coffee the way she liked it— too much cream, not enough sugar. Cook her a real breakfast. Eggs, bacon, the works. Maybe even sit her between my legs on the couch and braid that wild hair of hers while it was still messy from sleep, just so she didn’t have to deal with it before class. Then I was gonna drive her to campus myself. Make sure she got there safe. Make sure she knew last night wasn’t some one-off thing I was gonna let her run from.
All of that went up in smoke the second I realized she’d snuck out like a damn Cinderella who couldn’t face the morning.
I grabbed my phone off the coffee table, thumb swiping hard across the screen.
6:40 a.m.
