Page 95 of Cold Mercy

“Don’t drag this out. Shower and go to sleep.”

She rises too, unsteady, but determined. She steps into my space, closer than she should be. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, but full of something soft.

I brace myself. I expect her to yell or push me or try to kiss me. I expect the fire.

Instead, she steps forward and wraps her arms around my waist. She buries her face in my chest and just…holds on.

She melts into me, her weight resting entirely against my body, exhaling a long, shaky breath like she’s finally home.

I freeze, my arms hovering for a second before they close around her on instinct.

This is worse. This is a thousand times worse.

If she tried to fuck me, I could say no. I could be the noble guy who doesn't take advantage of a drunk woman.

But this? This trust? This need for comfort?

It rips me open.

“You came,” she mumbles into my shirt, her voice thick with sleep and alcohol. “You came when I called.”

She pulls back just enough to look up at me, cupping my cheek with a clumsy, gentle hand. She smiles, and it’s the sweetest, saddest thing I’ve ever seen.

“You’re such a good man, Thomas.”

Good man. If she knew. If she knew the files in my apartment, the lies in my mouth, the fact that I’m here to break everything…

I feel tears pricking the back of my eyes, hot and shameful. I can’t do this; I can’t stand here and let her look at me like I’m her hero when I’m actually the villain.

I pull back, breath shaking.

“Go shower, Sophia.”

She stands, swaying, but still looking at me like I’m hers.

I grab her shoulders, steer her into the bathroom, and shut the door firmly.

“Don’t come out until you’re washed and dressed.”

I lean my forehead against the door once it closes, breathing like I ran ten miles.

Tomorrow, everything’s going to break. But tonight, I got her home. And for now…that has to be enough.

I lie still for a moment, watching the faint morning light reach across her face, trying to memorize the softness that only sleep gives her. She’s curled against my arm as if she’s done it her whole life, breathing warm and steady, utterly unaware of the decision, I’ve been forcing into shape the entire night. Every instinct in me wants to stay, to pretend we’re just another couple waking up too early after a long night, to let myself reach for her and keep her close until the sun is fully up. But the reality waiting outside this room is louder than any fantasy I can build.

When the clock turns five, I shift carefully, slow enough that her head doesn’t lift from the pillow. I sit on the edge of the bed and take one breath, then another, waiting for the courage I know won’t come. Leaving her feels like tearing at something stitched into my ribs, but staying would be worse. Staying would mean dragging her into a life I already ruined long before she ever opened the door for me.

I stand, grab my jacket from the chair, and take a second to keep myself from looking back at her. If I do, I’ll never leave.

Of course she wakes, her voice hoarse and still heavy with the sleep and the hangover she definitely earned.

“Thomas? You’re already up?” She rubs her temple and pushes herself upright, wincing. “I’ll make you coffee, wait—”

I raise a hand, stopping her before she even gets both feet on the floor.

“Don’t, Sophia. I need to tell you something.”

Her shoulders freeze, the faint smile she tried to give me dying before it forms. She’s standing there in one of my shirts I left last time, looking so unguarded it hurts to look at her.