Page 124 of Broken Blades

His hoodie sat folded on top—dark gray, soft from a thousand washes, smelling like his detergent and something else underneath. Something distinctly him. I'd noticed it days ago. Told myself I wouldn't touch it.

I grabbed it anyway. Changed in my room with shaking fingers, pulling off the Serpents sweater and replacing it with his hoodie. Too big. Sleeves past my hands. Warm in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.

I would die before admitting I'd stolen it.

But I had.

And I pulled it tighter around myself like armor I desperately needed. Then I paced. Living room. Kitchen. Back to the living room. Hands shaking. Mouth dry. Butterflies in full riot—not the nervous kind, the terrifying kind that felt like freefall without a parachute.

Every kiss kept replaying on an endless, torturous loop⁠—

The public one outside the locker room, where he'd grabbed me like he couldn't help himself, where the world had narrowed to just his hands on my waist and his mouth claiming mine.

The one by my car, softer, slower, almost tender in a way that had shattered every defense I'd built.

The way he'd looked at me after. Like I mattered. Like this wasn't fake anymore. Like maybe it never had been.

I pressed my palms against my flushed cheeks, pacing faster. Terrified. Exhilarated. Wanting more with an intensity that felt dangerous, reckless, completely outside my control.

I heard the key scrape in the lock.

My breath stuttered. Stopped completely.

The door opened, and everything inside me pulled taut, waiting, trembling on the edge of something I couldn't name and wasn't sure I was ready for. But wanted anyway.

He stepped through the door.

Hair damp from the locker room shower. Muscles tight beneath his hoodie. Adrenaline still radiating off him in waves I felt from across the room. And a small cut high on his cheekbone I hadn't noticed from afar.

I gasped. "You're bleeding."

He shrugged like it meant nothing. "Guy's elbow caught me during the game."

I moved closer without thinking. My feet carried me forward before my brain caught up.

He froze. Body going rigid, eyes tracking my approach with something that looked like wariness. "Chastity⁠—"

I ignored him and gently took his chin, tilting his face toward the light.

The cut wasn't deep, but it was angry, the skin around it already darkening.

"Sit."

He did. Immediately. No argument. No resistance. Just lowered himself onto the couch like I'd pulled an invisible string.

I went to the bathroom, grabbed the first-aid kit from under the sink, and returned to find him sitting exactly where I'd left him. Watching me. Waiting.

I knelt in front of him. His legs bracketed me on either side. His eyes locked on my face with an intensity that made my pulse stutter. His breathing came too unsteady, chest rising and falling beneath the dark fabric of his hoodie.

I dampened a cloth with warm water and brought it carefully to the cut.

He flinched.

My hand stilled instantly. "Sorry."

"No. It's fine." His voice came out rougher than usual. "Just… not used to people touching me like this."

My chest squeezed painfully.