Page 58 of Break Me

That’s what finally snaps something in me. I cross the space between us in three steps and press my palm flat to his chest. His heart pounds under my hand.

“You don’t get to do this,” I say quietly.

“Do what?”

“This,” I answer, gesturing between us. “Pulling away for me.”

He looks away, toward the open doors. “I’m not pushing you away,” he says, his jaw tightening. “I’ve been busy. A lot’s going on right now.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say, taking a step forward, forcing him to look at me.

His eyes snap back to mine, dark and conflicted. “Raven⁠—”

“No,” I cut in. “Don’t try to make up excuses. You’re pulling away.”

His jaw flexes. “It’s not like that.”

“Then say it,” I challenge. “Say what you’re actually doing.”

Silence stretches. The garage noise fades into something distant, like we’re standing in a bubble no one else can breach.

“Shit’s about to go down, and I’m trying to keep you out of the line of fire,” he finally admits.

“Don't tell yourself this is for me.” My voice is quiet, but steady. “You don’t get to decide what I’m willing to risk.”

His eyes meet mine.

“I’m still here,” I say.

“That’s exactly what scares me.”

“You think I don’t understand risk?” I ask. “You think I don’t know what it means to love someone who stands in front of storms?”

His breath catches.

“I grew up in this world,” I continue. “I lost my mother young. I’ve watched men bleed, and women wait. I know what it costs.”

I reach up, cupping his face, my thumb brushing the scar at his jaw.

“And I’m still choosing you.”

“I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you,” he says, his voice rough.

I shake my head. “You don’t get to decide that alone.”

“I do if it keeps you breathing.”

“That’s not protection,” I say. “That’s control. And it hurts.”

That lands. I see it in the way his shoulders sag. Like he’s been holding himself rigid for days and finally ran out of strength.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he says quietly.

“Then stop choosing for me. Let me choose you.”

He searches my face like he’s looking for permission he’s afraid to take.

“I’m not asking you to be reckless,” I continue. “I’m asking you to be honest. With me. Not with my dad. Not with the club. With me.”