He should’ve tossed it. He should’ve let it go. He should’ve lethergo.
But he hadn’t.
He couldn’t.
His thumb traced the braid, slow and unsteady. The knot she’d tied was still there, crooked, too loose on one side. He remembered teasing her about it. He remembered her rolling her eyes and telling him to shut up. He remembered her leaning into him, shoulder brushing his, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He remembered everything.
A sharp breath punched out of him, rough and uneven.
He’d spent seven years pretending he didn’t miss her. Pretending he didn’t think about her. Pretending he didn’t still feel that empty space where she used to fit.
But this bracelet, this stupid simple piece of leather, was proof he’d never stopped carrying her.
Never stopped wanting her.
Never stopped hurting.
He pressed the bracelet to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, breath shaking.
The room felt too small, too warm, too full of the ghost of her. His pulse throbbed in his throat, in his chest, low in his stomach — a restless, hungry ache he hadn’t felt in years.
Avery’s face burned behind his eyelids.
The way she’d looked at him in the grocery store: flushed, furious, caught between shoving him away or pulling him closer. The way her tank top clung to her curves, the soft sway of her hips when she walked, the stubborn tilt of her chin. The way hereyes sparked when she was angry. God, he’d forgotten how beautiful she was when she argued back.
He dragged a hand over his face, groaning.
She wasn’t the girl he used to know. She was all woman now, soft in ways that made his chest ache, strong in ways that made his pulse jump.
And he felt every inch of it.
He leaned back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling, breath unsteady. Heat curled low in his stomach, sharp and insistent. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, a tight pull of want that made him grit his teeth.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. He shouldn’t be remembering the way she used to laugh, the way she used to lean into him without thinking, the way she used to look at him like he was hers. He shouldn’t be imagining the warmth of her skin, the softness of her breath against his throat, the way she’d feel pressed against him.
But he was.
He always had.
He turned onto his side, jaw clenched, heart pounding hard enough to hurt. The memory of her scent, warm and familiar, wrapped around him like a vice. His body tightened, heat rolling through him in slow, relentless waves.
He cursed under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair.
Wanting her felt dangerous. Wanting her felt inevitable.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe past the ache, past the hunger, past the way his body reacted just thinking her name. But the images wouldn’t stop: Avery close, Avery soft, Avery angry and beautiful and right there in front of him, looking at him like she remembered everything they’d been and everything they’d almost become.
He shouldn’t want her like this. He shouldn’t let himself feel this. He shouldn’t let seven years of buried longing claw its way to the surface.
But it was too late.
It had been too late the second she walked back into his life.
He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, chest rising and falling in uneven pulls. The room felt thick with the echo of her, her voice, her scent, her heat, and he couldn’t outrun it. Couldn’t outrun her.
Avery Brooks was back.
