Everything I Couldnât Say
Chapter 33: Three Ways to Break & Stay
A night in three pieces. One truth, seen from three sides.
âAre you sure this is working?â
Mikeâs voice landed right against the shell of my ear, low and close and lazy like he wasnât just saying it for the plan â like he was enjoying this.
We were tangled in the crowd, lights strobing across flushed faces and sweaty limbs.
"See for yourself," I murmured, tipping my chin toward Savannah across the room. Her glare couldâve stripped paint off a wall.
Mike let out a slow whistle. "Well damn. You might actually be scarier than me."
Without thinking, I grabbed his collar and pulled him in. Too close. Past believable. Just enough that she'd see.
His hands slid to my waist, slow, deliberate â just above my hips.
âCareful,â he murmured, voice low, lips brushing my hair. âYou keep that up, I might forget this is pretend.â
âIâm very convincing when I want to be.â
I took another swig from the bottle. Didnât taste it. Just the burn.
âYouâre also very drunk,â he said, half-teasing â but his eyes flickered. Not quite amused. Not quite concerned.
âIâm great,â I said. Slurred it. Smiled through it. Lied. âBesides, you like me like this. Loose. Easy.â
He huffed a quiet laugh. âYou want me to argue?â
His gaze dipped to the bottle in my hand. âOkayâmaybe just donât drink like youâve got something to prove.â
âWhy?â I cut in. âWeâre just playing our parts, right?â
He didnât answer. Just looked at me â a beat too long. Not hurt. Not judging. Just... seeing me.
âYouâre not even here right now,â he said softly. âBut trust me â youâre playing a dangerous game, Bishop.â
It shouldâve felt wrong. Shouldâve felt like betrayal.
But mostly, it just felt numb.
The music slammed through my chest. My blood felt electric and empty at the same time.
And somewhere behind my eyelids, memories crashed through â too fast, too sharp.
Anya, laughing as I handed her my favorite stuffed pig when we were kids, her leg in a cast.
How proud I'd been to give it to her, how right it had felt.
And then the first night without it â lying in bed, aching for something I'd chosen to give away.
Somewhere in this house, Daniel was upstairs.
My chest squeezed so tightly I thought I might actually break open.
I forced myself to breathe.
To smile when Mike spun me lazily in his arms, a hand firm against my hip.
I forced myself to pretend.
Mikeâs hands didnât drift. He wasnât like the others. He held me like he knew I wasnât really here â like I was already somewhere else, burning quietly from the inside out.
âI know what youâre doing,â he said, voice low in my ear again. âAnd Iâll let you. For tonight.â
I didnât answer. I couldnât.
âJust donât make me enjoy it too much,â he added with a smile that was too sad for his mouth. "And donât make me think you mean it."
I laughed, a sharp breath that barely passed for humor. "If youâre gonna watch me self-destruct, you might as well enjoy the show."
We moved. Not fast. Not to the beat. Just slowly, like time had slowed down around us and we didnât want to admit it was still moving.
Then â his fingers slid just barely beneath the back of my dress.
Skin met skin â low, at the base of my spine. A touch so slight it couldâve been nothing.
Accidental or not, I didnât care.
Because in my head, it wasnât him.
His mouth on someone elseâs skin.
It felt like burning â slow and acid-deep.
I needed something stronger.
At the drink table, I grabbed a cup. Vodka maybe. Gin. Paint thinner.
It burned. That was the point.
Mikeâs hand caught my wrist a second later â firm, not rough.
âAlright. Thatâs enough.â
I yanked away, cup still tight in my grip.
âYouâre barely standing.â
âAnd what happens when youâre not? You need to go home.â
This time, when he reached, it wasnât for the cup.
But because I didnât want him to walk away.
âI donât want to go,â I said. Quiet. Maybe not even out loud.
He didnât flinch. Didnât ask what I meant.
This wasnât about him. It never was.
It was about what I couldnât stop seeing â
Daniel, with someone else.
Daniel, slipping further away.
Mike didnât try to stop me.
Didnât try to rescue me.
Drunk. Warm. And the guy who liked me enough to want me, just for tonight.
And maybe that was enough.
Maybe for one night, pretending would hurt less.
His hands found my waist again â firmer now, like he didnât trust himself either.
His gaze dipped, lingering.
We were standing too close. Breathing the same breath.
The room spun like a carousel. I closed my eyes. Just for a second.
Just to pretend. But the ache didnât go away.
Like static before a lightning strike.
His grip adjusted â not possessive, but protective.
His gaze fixed above my shoulder.
âWell, shit,â he muttered.
He clapped Danielâs shoulder like it was nothing â but the flicker of guilt in his eyes said otherwise.
And just like that, he was gone.
Leaving me swaying, cup in hand, the weight of almost everything still pressing against my skin.
And Daniel âwatching like heâd seen every second of what I almost let happen.
He didn't say anything at first.
Just stood there looking at me.
And God â he looked good.
The kind of good that hit like a punch to the ribs.
Hair mussed like he'd run his hands through it a hundred times.
Shirt rumpled, sleeves pushed up, his stupid tattoo peeking out at his collarbone.
He looked like himself. That was the problem.
I hated how much I noticed.
I hated how much it still mattered.
"Having fun?" he asked finally, voice low, careful.
I took another sip from the cup, forcing a casual shrug. "Why do you care?"
I narrowed my eyes, watching him through the messy blur of drunk and angry and stupidly hopeful.
"Good," I said, my throat tight. "You shouldn't."
He didn't move closer â but somehow the air between us kept getting smaller.
He watched me for a second longer â then reached out and slid the cup from my fingers, slow and easy like I might break.
I hated how easy it was to let him.
"I waited," he said, voice so steady it made my chest hurt. "Waited for you to stop. You didn't."
My hands itched to touch him.
My mouth ached with words I couldn't say.
Instead, I giggled â a stupid, broken sound â and hated myself instantly.
"You saw?" I asked, wobbling between defiance and something worse.
Daniel's mouth twitched, but not in a smile.
I looked away, blinking too fast.
Everything felt glass-thin.
Too bright, too loud, too much.
"And nothing," he said, soft but firm. "Except you're done now. Come on."
The way he said it â not a question, not a plea â made my throat close up.
I stumbled back a step, stubborn. "I'm not leaving."
His jaw ticked once. Barely.
"You are," he said again.
I shook my head, reckless. "You didn't even text me back. Why should I go anywhere with you?"
The words came out too fast, too desperate, too real.
For a second, something flickered across Daniel's face â something sharp â but then he huffed a breath, almost like he was tired of me being drunk and dramatic.
"Really, Norah?" he said, dry. "That's your big stand?"
It stung. More because it sounded so...dismissive. Like I was a little kid throwing a tantrum and he was already past it.
I dropped my head back against the wall, breathing hard.
"What about Anya?" I mumbled, the name tasting sour.
Daniel's gaze sharpened â but not the way I expected.
"You're jumping to conclusions again," he said.
I blinked up at him, confused and aching and too drunk to hide any of it.
"But Mike and Liam said..."
The words stumbled out before I could stop them, stupid and shaky and small.
Daniel stood there, steady, like the party noise didnât reach him.
Just that look â like he was tired of even trying to make me believe him.
And just like that, every reason Iâd let myself spiral â felt stupid. Felt like Iâd betrayed him for nothing.
I opened my mouth â and shut it again.
What was I supposed to say now?
"Good for you then," I muttered, feeling every bit the idiot.
Daniel exhaled â almost a sigh â then wrapped his hand around mine like it was the most obvious thing in the world and tugged me through the crowd.
And even drunk and dizzy and furious with myself â I let him.
Outside, the cold air hit me like a slap.
I sucked in a deep breath, leaning back against the wall, letting my head fall back, eyes slipping shut.
"Whereâs your car?" Daniel asked.
A pause. "Howâd you get here?"
"God, youâre such a buzzkill," I muttered. "Daniel Cohen. Professional brooder. Joy assassin."
Just that same still stare like he was calculating how far gone I was.
"Do it," I said, pointing at him. "Smile. Just once."
He caught my wrist before I could poke him, slow and deliberate.
And for a second â just a second â the corner of his mouth twitched. Almost. Something dangerously close to a smile.
It hit harder than it shouldâve.
God, why did his face have to be so familiar it made my chest hurt?
I stumbled a step back, needing the space before I did something even dumber.
"Let's go," I said, aiming for breezy and missing by a mile.
"Anywhere thatâs not home."
"You're drunk," he said simply, catching my elbow when I swayed.
"No shit. Congrats on figuring that out."
We started walking. Sloppy steps into quiet streets, the bass from the party fading behind us.
"We shouldâve been friends sooner," I said. No plan. Just the words.
Daniel glanced sideways. "Yeah? Whyâs that?"
I shrugged. "Mightâve changed things."
Just kept pace beside me, hands jammed in his pockets, the sharp angles of him outlined by the streetlights.
"You wanna dance?" I asked, too loud, more desperate for a reaction than I wanted to admit.
Daniel gave a low huff â not quite a laugh.
"I think you've had enough of that for one night."
"Mike's a great dance partner," I said, like I could provoke something, anything.
Daniel didn't take the bite.
Just a flat, unreadable, "Yeah?"
And somehow that stung worse than if he'd gotten angry.
Worse than if he'd pulled me away or thrown some bitter jab.
I wanted him to care. I wanted a reaction.
I wanted to be someone he couldn't ignore.
But he stayed exactly where he was â emotionally and physically â like none of it touched him, while I burned quietly beside him.
"Fine," I muttered. "Hide and seek it is."
Before he could say anything, I bolted.
Found a tree, grabbed a branch, hauled myself upâ
And instantly felt his hand wrap around my ankle.
"Get down before you fall."
âNot until you smile like you mean it and not like someoneâs forcing you at gunpoint.â
I slid down clumsily, landing half in his arms, half on the ground.
For a second, our faces were too close.
I felt it â the pull â and so did he.
But as always, he stepped back.
He set me on my feet, steady and infuriating.
"Youâre done," he said. Quiet. Final. "Iâm taking you home."
I wrapped my arms around myself, chin tipped stubbornly. "I canât. Nathanâs gonna kill me."
His expression shifted. Just slightly.
"Nathan," he repeated, like testing the weight of it.
"Emmaâs Nathan," I said. "Off-limits. In case youâre keeping score."
His face changed â something flickering behind his eyes. Something close to pain before it vanished.
"Count to ten!" I yelled â and took off like I could outrun whatever just happened between us.
But this time, the street pitched sideways.
The world spun faster than my legs could keep up, and the next thing I knew, I was lost â empty streets, empty houses, nothing but darkness pressing in.
The fear clawed up quick.
And then â footsteps behind me.
I ran, breath burning my throat, shoes slapping the pavement, heart pounding out of my chest.
"Done playing explorer yet?"
My knees buckled with relief. I didnât think â just wrapped my arms around him, face buried in his chest, breath catching on leather and soap and something that was just him.
He froze for half a second â then pulled me in tighter. Like it was instinct. Like holding me together came naturally.
âIâve got you,â he murmured into my hair.
My fingers fisted into his shirt. I held on like maybe the world would stop spinning if I just didnât let go.
He pulled back slightly. Just enough to look at me.
And God â the way he looked.
Like I was something worth finding. Worth staying for.
Like I wasnât too much.
My hand rose without thinking, brushing along his jaw. He didnât flinch. Just stayed there. Steady. Waiting.
Why hadnât he given up on me?
And that thought â that unbearable, beautiful truth â shattered something inside me.
I leaned in. Toes lifting. Heart wild.
Soft. Shaky. Like a question.
For a second, he didnât move â just let it happen.
And when I didnât pull away â when I pressed in, heart full and aching â
Thatâs when he kissed me back.
Like heâd been waiting.
One of his hands slid to the small of my back, pulling me closer, anchoring me against him like he wasn't planning to ever let go.
His other hand threaded into my hair, tilting my head just right, deepening the kiss.
Every brush of his lips said the things we hadn't dared say aloud.
Every graze of his fingertips promised something I wasn't sure I deserved but wanted anyway.
I whimpered quietly into his mouth when he kissed the corner of my jaw, my neck.
His breath was hot against my skin, his hand sliding up along the bare line of my back, where the dress dipped low â like he knew exactly how to undo me.
He pausedâ just enough for our foreheads to touch.
I could feel it in him. The tension. The effort not to come undone.
âYou looked like you didnât care,â I whispered, voice small.
âI don't think you understand how hard that was to watch. You with him,â he said, voice low.
A pause. Then, tighter â rougher:
âI was trying not to lose it.â
The ache in me shifted â sharper. More exposed.
I didnât answer. Just leaned in, my hands curled in the fabric of his shirt like I might fall if I let go.
His breath hitched. His eyes didnât leave mine â like he was reading every thought I didnât say out loud.
The space between us felt too charged, too much. Like if either of us moved, the world might catch fire.
And then he said, quieter:
âBut I didnât want to be the guy who dragged you away from someone else.â
I blinked. The words settled low in my chest.
I said softly. âI hoped you would. I needed you to.â
That broke something in him.
Just a shift â the kind you only noticed if you knew Daniel Cohen. If you knew how hard he fought not to need.
His hand curled around the back of my neck, firm and certain, and his mouth was on mine before I could take another breath.
There was no hesitation this time.
Just Daniel â kissing me like I was his, like Iâd always been his, like the space between us had never existed at all.
His other hand around my waist, pulled me closer â until I felt the heat of him everywhere.
And I kissed him back, dizzy with it. Drowning in it.
The world couldâve disappeared and I wouldnât have noticed.
Because he kissed me like he meant it.
Like heâd been waiting for this.
Like I was the only thing that had ever made him lose control.
And then he pulled back â just enough to breathe, not enough to let me go.
His eyes didnât leave mine â dark, unreadable, burning.
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Soft. Barely a whisper.
"Don't look at me like that."
He didn't move. Didn't blink.
"Like what?" he asked, voice low, coaxing. Like he already knew the answer but was daring me to name it â to admit it â to acknowledge everything we both knew was hanging in the air between us.
"Like you..." I trailed off.
Because the rest â the truth of it â felt too dangerous. And too real.
I couldnât say it. Couldnât breathe it aloud.
So instead, I broke â just a little.
"I think I left my phone in Mikeâs pocket," I said, light, deflecting, hoping the shift in tone would settle the air between us.
Not a blink. Not a breath.
Just a flicker across his jaw â a clench so subtle youâd miss it if you werenât looking for it.
His voice was sharp, but low. The kind of low that sits at the base of your spine and hums.
I shrugged, trying to play it off â casual, like my pulse wasnât rioting under my skin.
He didnât let it slide.
His hand moved slowly, deliberately, curling around the side of my neck â not rough, but sure. His thumb brushed along my jaw, a soft drag that sent a shiver down my back.
"Did you have to mention him?" he muttered, voice raw, the words like heat against my skin. Like it physically pained him to hear another name in my mouth.
I swallowed, too aware of how close we were. Of the way his fingers didnât move â just held.
I tilted my head slightly into his touch, not answering, just breathing â slow, shallow.
The silence stretched. Dense. Electric.
Not because I planned to. Not because it was the right moment.
It was soft, but not uncertain. Slow, but not shy.
And he kissed me back like it had already happened in his head a hundred times â deepening it with a quiet growl of breath, his other hand at my waist like he needed to ground both of us.
Even when he pulled just enough to murmur against my mouth, voice hoarse and wrecked and hisâ
"Letâs go get your damn phone."
And the way his voice scraped over the words â low, wrecked, wrecking me â made my knees go weak all over again.
When we stepped back into the house, the heat hit harder. Louder. Denser. The air felt thick with bass and sweat and too many people pressing in.
Daniel cursed under his breath, phone to his ear, jaw tight. âHeâs not picking up,â he muttered after the third try. âIâll go find him.â
But just before he turned, he stepped in â close. Closer than he needed to be.
His hand came up to the side of my neck, thumb brushing behind my ear. His breath was right there when he spoke.
âStay where I can find you.â
Not soft. Not pleading. Just steady. Like a promise. Like a warning.
Then he pulled back, just barely â eyes lingering one second longer, jaw flexed like he hated walking away.
And then he was gone â disappearing into the crowd like a fuse still burning.
And suddenly I felt...lost.
Like a kid stranded in the middle of a too-bright, too-loud carnival.
The nausea came back in waves. I had to go out.
Pushing through the throng of people, I stumbled outside into the cool night air, sucking in a sharp breath.
I found a low stone wall and sank onto it, dropping my head between my knees until the world stopped spinning.
That's when I heard it â the sharp crack of breaking glass.
I turned toward the sound.
Anya stood a few feet away, swaying slightly, staring down at the shattered remains of a bottle at her feet.
"Shit," she mumbled, bending down unsteadily to pick up the pieces.
"Anyaâ" I lurched toward her. "No, don't â you'll cut yourself."
She looked up at me, blinking slow and heavy.
"It's you," she said, her voice thick and slurred. A crooked smile tugged at her mouth.
"I was hoping it'd be you."
I caught her arm and gently pulled her upright, steering her toward a garden rock.
She dropped heavily beside me, head lolling slightly.
"Why is it you every time?"
"What is it about you?" Anya said, almost wonderingly.
Her eyes shone too bright in the dark.
"No matter how bad you screw up. No matter how much you hurt him. He's always going to choose you."
I opened my mouth. No sound came out.
"He only knows one name," she whispered.
I didn't know what to say â what was there to say?
"Anyaâ" I tried, helplessly.
But she wasn't looking at me anymore.
Her gaze shifted past my shoulder. I turned â and saw Daniel approaching, face grim, shoulders squared like he already knew what he was walking into.
"Anya," Daniel said carefully.
But she stumbled to her feet before he could reach her.
Her voice cracked, sharp and broken in the night.
There was nothing he could say.
Anya's hands fisted in his shirt. She pressed her forehead to his chest and sobbed â raw, wrecked, messy.
Daniel caught her without flinching, steadying her as she cried.
After a long, aching beat, he lifted his head â his eyes finding mine.
The sound of Anya's sobs ebbed slowly into quiet hiccups.
Finally, her body sagged, going boneless with exhaustion, and Daniel shifted his hold to keep her from crumpling to the ground.
"I'll take her home," he said, voice low.
I nodded once, unable to find my voice.
"I'll find Shay," I said thickly. "I can catch a ride."
"No," Daniel said immediately. His voice was rough but certain. "Come with me."
He said my name like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.
"I'm not letting you ruin this. Not again."
Something in my chest cracked wide open.
At Anya's house, the silence pressed down even harder.
I fumbled for the key in her bag, unlocked the door.
Daniel carried her inside.
And I just trailed after him, numb.
He laid her gently on her bed, moving with a careful tenderness that made my throat ache.
In her room â that familiar green room that once felt like home â the memories hit me like a fist.
Laughter. Midnight confessions. Secrets whispered into pillows.
I helped pull off Anya's shoes, tucking her under the covers, brushing a stray curl from her forehead.
When I straightened, my eyes landed on the nightstand.
The battered stuffed pig I'd given her all those years ago.
Still there. Still waiting.
"I texted Juliet," Daniel said quietly from the doorway. "She'll stay with her tonight."
I nodded, unable to speak.
"You okay?" he asked, voice gruff.
"Yeah. Just..." I shook my head. "Water?"
He hesitated â then nodded once and slipped out toward the kitchen.
I sank down onto the old beanbag by the bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling.
The cracks in everything.
Somewhere between one breath and the next, exhaustion pulled me under.
The sense of movement woke me.
I was half-aware â a weightless feeling, the hum of tires on asphalt, the smell of leather and cold air.
Daniel's hand was around me, strong and sure.
"Go back to sleep," he said, voice low, brushing my hair back from my forehead.
I tried to lift my head. "Where are we going?"
"Away," Daniel said simply.
The music downstairs pulsed like a heartbeat trying too hard. Up here, it was just a dull thud â still there, but distant enough to pretend it didnât matter.
Daniel sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head down. He hadnât said much tonight. Not that he usually did.
But this quiet felt different. Heavier. Like something in him had slipped out of place, and he hadnât figured out how to put it back.
I leaned against the dresser, sipping something sharp that tasted like cleaner, just for the burn. The room smelled like old cologne and cheaper beer, like every other party Iâd been to. But Daniel didnât fit here. He never really did. He looked like heâd wandered into the wrong story.
Or maybe he was just waiting for the right person to walk in.
âSo this is what passes for wild these days, huh?â I asked, trying to keep it light.
He didnât answer. Didnât even look up.
I set the cup down. Wiped my palms on my skirt before crossing the room and sitting beside him. Not too close.
âYou ever get tired?â I asked, quieter now. âOf hurting over someone who doesnât know how to stop hurting you?â
His head tilted slightly, but he didnât say anything.
So I kept going, not sure who I was trying to comfort â him or me.
âIâm not trying to make things weird. I justâŚâ I hesitated. âI think sometimes you forget other people care about you too. Sheâs not the only one.â
That got him to look at me. Just for a second. His eyes didnât soften, didnât harden. He was just... there.
âI know you care,â he said finally. Low. Like it was hard to say out loud.
Something about the way he said it â so certain â hit me harder than I expected.
âI mean it,â I said. âI see you, Daniel. Iâve seen you for a while now. You carry so much, like youâre scared it might spill out wrong. But I think... I think I could handle it. If you ever wanted to let it out.â
He was quiet again. And then he turned, really looked at me.
His expression wasnât pity. But wasnât interest either. It was kind. Too kind.
âYouâd be really good to someone,â he said, eyes on the floor. âSomeone who deserves you.â
I let out a breath. âBut not you?â
He looked up, steady. âNo.â
It shouldâve wrecked me. But instead, it felt like something inside me unclenched â something I didnât even know Iâd been holding too tightly.
I nodded, blinking fast. âThanks for not pretending.â
He looked down at his hands. âI wouldnât use you to forget her.â
And somehow, that hurt more than if he had.
We sat in the silence for another moment, and then he stood, muttering something about getting air.
I followed a few steps behind, slower. Quieter.
Weâd barely left the room when she walked in.
Like the universe had impeccable timing and a cruel sense of humor.
She wasnât trying to get attention. But she had it anyway. All of it. Effortless, like always.
I didnât need to look at Daniel to know what was happening. But I did.
He had gone still beside me.
His eyes locked on her like the rest of the room had disappeared.
And when she walked over to Mike â tugged him toward the dance floor like it meant nothing â Daniel didnât flinch. Didnât speak. Didnât move.
But I felt it. Something in him shifted.
The air around him got sharper. Charged.
At one point when Mike and Norah got too close, I thought maybe â maybe â this was the moment heâd break.
He just exhaled, slow and steady, and started walking.
Not to me. Not to the door.
Like he didnât even have a choice.
I stayed where I was. Didnât call after him. Didnât try to be anything I wasnât.
And that â not the âno,â not the conversation upstairs â was the moment I understood.
He was never mine to lose.
He was always going to choose her.
I didnât want to be at Mikeâs party. Liam said it might be good for me. Anya texted too. I didnât have a reason to say no that didnât sound like an excuse, so I came.
Mostly, I stood around. Nursing a drink I wasnât drinking. Letting the music rattle around my head like noise. Watching people pretend they werenât waiting to be seen.
I told myself I wasnât looking for her.
Anya pulled me upstairs. Quieter there. Cooler. She sat beside me on someoneâs half-made bed. Gave me that soft, sad smile she saves for when sheâs trying not to hope.
She talked. About school. About nothing.
She said she saw me. That maybe she understood me.
And I wanted to tell her I appreciated it. I did. Anya was one of the only few people I could call a friend.
But kindness and closeness arenât the same thing. And she deserved more than almost.
âYouâd be really good to someone,â I told her, meaning it. âSomeone who deserves you.â
Her eyes fell. She nodded like she already knew.
Still asked if it could be me.
We werenât even on the stairwell yet when I saw her.
Sheâd just walked in. Black dress. Bare legs. Red mouth. Hair like spilled ink down her back. And that look â the one that made you want to kneel.
Then someone said something. Probably Liam.
Her mouth twitched. Paused as Mike added something.
She looked straight up the stairs.
But her eyes didnât find mine.
Because she didnât think Iâd still be there.
She thought I was gone. With Anya.
Probably fucking. Probably moved on.
And in that second â right fucking there â I watched it happen.
That cold, sharp little smile slide back into place.
I swear to God, my vision tunneled.
She walked straight into his arms like it was nothing. Like it was easy.
And sure as hell not for me.
She pressed in close. He grabbed her waist like he had the right. She didnât stop him.
Cup in one hand. Rage in the other.
Anya was quiet beside me. I donât think she noticed what Iâd become â statue, storm, whatever the fuck I was pretending to be.
Mike pulled her closer. She let him.
But it was difficult not to see:
That strain behind her smile.
The way her eyes didnât match her mouth.
He twirled her. Her dress caught the light â or maybe it was just short enough to make me dizzy.
Every second of it burned.
This was a nightmare I couldnât wake up from.
Maybe she wasnât over me.
Or maybe she just got better at hiding it.
Either way â it didnât matter if she still let this happen.
He mightâve known it wasnât real. Mightâve even understood why.
And she was letting him pretend â for one fucked-up night â that he could have her.
I hated the way he touched her.
I hated that dumb, hungry look he had. Like he thought maybe this was his shot.
I hated how far she let it go.
And I hated that I couldnât do anything about it â not without tearing the whole room down around us.
She spun again â hands on his chest now, head tipped toward him like she was whispering.
His thumb slid along her back.
His hand was on her fucking skin.
My chest clenched. Breathing stopped.
I didnât care if it was pretend.
I couldnât fucking watch it anymore.
The air downstairs hit like heat off a fire.
They were still locked in.
He was staring at her mouth.
She wasnât even looking at him.
Like she wanted to disappear inside the moment.
Or maybe rewrite it with someone else.
She just didnât want to feel.
She just wanted to forget.
And he was going to let her.
I crossed the room, heart in my throat.
Mike didnât see me until I was right there.
He blinked â startled. Like Iâd cracked through the glass.
He let go of her like she burned.
Clapped my shoulder, casual â like this wasnât seconds away from a mistake that wouldâve ruined everything.
Her eyes locked on mine â glassy and sharp.
I asked if she was having fun.
But my blood was boiling.
Because she had no fucking idea how close I came to losing it.
Her smile cut. Sharp. Dismissive. Like nothing happened in there.
She said something snarky. I didnât move.
Then she made a retort â biting, defensive. The kind she throws when sheâs spiraling and pretending not to.
I took the cup from her hand. Slowly. Daring her to pull away.
âYou didnât text me back,â she snapped.
God, I wanted to tell her I wrote that message four different fucking ways and still couldnât press send. That I stood there, phone in hand, waiting â just waiting â for her to give me a reason to try again.
She asked about Anya. Voice flat. Eyes empty.
I didnât flinch. Didnât explain. Because what was the point?
She used words like a weapon. Like she wanted to wound me.
But when I reached for her hand â she didnât pull away.
Laughing too loud. Climbing whatever the hell was in front of her. Yelling like the night owed her something.
Telling me I should smile â like I hadnât just watched her let someone else put his hands all over her.
I let her burn off whatever was eating her alive. Let her act like she was fine.
She dropped into my arms halfway through her stunt, and I didnât even blink.
Because even now, with everything in me still burning, I still wanted to be the one catching her.
She was everything at once â reckless, raw, hurting. And fuck, I still wanted her.
So I just let her be all of it. Because I didnât want her any different. I just wanted her here.
She said we shouldâve been friends sooner.
Because if Iâd known her sooner, I wouldâve fallen harder.
And it would've ruined me faster.
She said she couldnât go home. Said Nathan would kill her. Called him Emmaâs Nathan.
The way she said it wasnât a joke.
I didnât push. Just stayed by her side. Solid. Quiet.
She tried to provoke me. Danced around the word jealous. Brought up Mike again. Like she wanted me to lose it.
Like she needed proof that she still had the power to wreck me.
I didnât give her the satisfaction.
Didnât tell her I wanted to tear that guyâs hands off when he touched her skin.
Because I knew what this was.
Trying to see if I still cared.
If Iâd still fight for her.
If she still mattered to me.
And when she screamed my name â pure panic, all the bullshit stripped away â I was already running.
Found her like Iâd been wired for it.
Held her like she was already breaking.
Norah â trembling, shaking, real.
Not the version from the party.
And something in me went still.
This was the girl I knew.
âIâve got you,â I whispered.
No matter what she put me through.
And then â she kissed me.
Just grabbed my face and kissed me like she couldnât take it anymore.
Not because I didnât want it.
But because I wanted it too much.
Because Iâd imagined this â needed this â for so fucking long, it didnât feel real.
Let her take what she needed.
And then I kissed her back.
Harder. Slower. All of it.
She clung to me â hands tight in my shirt, body pressed close like she wanted to crawl inside my skin.
And in that second, everything else dropped away â Mike, the party, the chaos.
All that mattered was this.
Her. Finally choosing me.
And then â her voice, soft. Fragile.
âYou looked like you didnât care.â
It hit me in the ribs. No warning.
I didnât speak for a second.
âI donât think you understand how difficult that was to watch. You with him.â
âI tried so hard not to lose itâ I had to pause. Swallow the jealousy. The heat. âDidnât want to be the guy who dragged you away from someone else.â
Her fingers curled tighter in my shirt.
âI hoped you would,â she whispered. âI needed you to.â
And just like that â fuck.
Something twisted in my chest â tight, hot, undeniable.
No explosion. No outburst.
Just a sharp pull under the ribs, like my body had been waiting to hear that.
Because that â that permission, that want â it unspooled every knot in my chest.
Not out of confusion. Not out of habit.
She wanted me to be the one to claim her.
Slower this time. But deeper. Possessive.
Like Iâd finally been given the right.
She pulled back just slightly, breath catching. âDonât look at me like that.â
âLike what?â I wanted her to say it.
Instead, she flinched. Backpedaled. Threw up some stupid line about her phone still being in Mikeâs pocket.
Because of course she had to make it harder than it needed to be. Still trying to self-destruct before I could get too close.
But she didnât pull away.
And her hands were still on me. I didnât laugh.
Close enough to feel the stutter of her breath.
Close enough to make her wait.
But she kissed me instead this time. Slower. Deeper.
Just there â all in â like I had every right to be.
Because sheâd chosen me.
Because for the first time in forever â she wasnât hiding.
âLetâs go get your damn phone,â I murmured against her mouth.
She smiled. A real one this time.
And I swear to God, I almost asked her to marry me right then and there â just for that smile.
Back at the house, the heat slammed into us. Too many people. Too much noise. Like stepping into a furnace.
I didnât want to leave her, not even for a second.
I started to move through the crowd, then stopped.
Caught her chin in my hand, gently.
Just her face tilted up to mine, and the ghost of her mouth still warm on mine.
âStay where I can find you.â
She nodded, lips parted, still breathless.
And the second I stepped out, I saw her.
Drunk. Off-balance. Eyes glassy.
Like the impact had just hit.
One girl who never asked me to stay.
And me â heart in my throat â caught in the fallout.
