Chapter 18 #2
“Jasper,” I warn, heat crawling up my neck, but he doesn’t stop.
“You want to know what it’s like to be ruined like that?” He tilts his head. “All you have to do is knock on my door. I’ll act out any page you want. Hell, I’ll give you something better to read about.”
I grab the book, shoving it under my pillow, but my pulse is already betraying me.
“Go to bed, Jasper.”
He laughs and turns like he’s going to walk away, but then his eyes flick over me, pausing for a second too long on the shirt—his shirt—hanging loose off my shoulders before he looks away.
“Is that my shirt?” His mouth curves, just barely.
I raise a brow, playful, needing the levity. “Do you want it back?”
“Nah. Looks better on you.”
My smile flickers, then fades.
“You talked to Riot.”
His grin fades, eyes going serious. “I did.”
“About me?”
He meets my gaze without flinching. “Of course, about you.”
My throat goes tight. “What did you say?”
Jasper steps in, closing the space between us. “I told him not to play with you. That if he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, he needs to stay out of your head.”
I drop my eyes, hugging my arms around myself. “And if he knows?”
He’s quiet for a long beat, and I can feel his pulse in the silence.
“Then he better mean it,” Jasper finally says, voice low and heavy. “Because you’re not a game, Sawyer. Not to me. And not to him, if he wants to keep breathing.”
A shaky breath escapes me. “Why are you both looking at me like I’m something that matters?”
He tilts his head, softening. “You do matter.”
“But I don’t—” My voice breaks. I can’t say it, but it’s written in every line of my body. “Why both of you? Why now? I’m not…”
“Don’t say it,” Jasper warns, voice suddenly sharp.
“But I feel it,” I whisper. “Like I’m just some phase. Or a distraction. Or worse—some twisted rivalry thing you two have going.”
He steps in and cups the side of my face—warm, calloused palm anchoring me.
“You’re not part of a rivalry. You’re not a phase. And I sure as hell don’t want you for a distraction.”
My breath catches. He says it as if it’s carved from stone—unchanging, undeniable.
I close my eyes, fighting the sting of tears. His thumb strokes beneath my jaw, like he’s trying to remind me he’s real.
“I want you because you see me,” he says softly, almost like it hurts to admit it. “You don’t see me as the ’rockstar’, but you see what’s underneath. Even when I don’t want to be seen. Especially then.”
That’s the moment something inside my chest cracks open. The last of my walls crumble in his hands like they were never really mine to hold up.
“I don’t want to be broken anymore,” I whisper, my voice trembling, betraying everything I’ve tried to keep locked down.
His lips brush over my temple as if he’s promising to seal every fractured piece of me back together.
“Then let me help you stay whole,” he murmurs. “Let me carry some of that weight, Sawyer. Even if you’re not ready to give it to me yet.”
I pull back slightly, enough to see his face. His eyes are softer now. His thumb traces slow, gentle circles under my chin, a touch so careful it almost undoes me.
“Get some rest, Trouble,” he says, his voice rough but warm. Then, that dangerous smirk flickers, softening around the edges.
“You’ve got two fucked-up boys falling for you.”
And then he’s slipping out the door before I can fall apart, before I can ask him to stay, before I can figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with all this longing burning a hole in my chest.
I stand there a minute, the warmth of his hand lingering on my skin, my own hands shaking, and finally let myself hope.
I could belong to both of them.
I could belong to myself.
JASPER
I should’ve gone back to bed.
Should’ve put on music, grabbed a bottle, punched a wall—anything to drown out this tight ache in my chest after seeing her like that. Vulnerable, spinning out in doubt. Not because of me. Not entirely.
Because of him.
The hallway is dark, shadows long against the walls; I’ve been listening to his footsteps for an hour. Trying to ignore him, and the thoughts of what I want to do versus what I should do. Unfortunately, they’ve led me right to his fucking door.
I don’t knock.
I walk right in.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, shirtless, sweats riding low on his hips, hair a mess like he’s been pulling at it. There’s a light on, painting everything in amber and shadow. He looks up, frowning—jaw tight, eyes wary.
“What?” he asks bluntly.
I shut the door behind me, hard enough to make the picture on the wall rattle.
“She’s in her room,” I say. “Alone.”
His brows pinch, like he’s trying to figure out where this is going, why I’m here. I can hardly believe what I’m about to say.
I take a step forward. Then another, until the air between us is charged, heavy with the negative feelings we have toward each other.
“You wanted time alone with her? You got it.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, muscles tense. He looks surprised, but he doesn’t say a word.
“She’s scared, Riot.” My jaw works. “Not of you, but of us. Of herself. Of this whole fucked-up thing.”
Still nothing. But his eyes say more than his mouth ever will.
“I told her she’s not a game,” I go on, voice low.
“If you want her, show her. Because the girl in that room—she’s been lied to, used, thrown away by every man who ever said she mattered.
She’s so fucking used to being disposable that she’s questioning both of us just for wanting her. ”
His fingers flex, white-knuckled on his knees.
“So if you’re going to her,” I continue, “don’t sneak in like some secret. You’re not a side piece, and she’s not a phase.”
Riot exhales through his nose, sharp and hot, then finally he speaks.
“I was going to,” he mutters. “I was just… figuring out which one of these damn windows wouldn’t squeak.”
It almost makes me laugh. The slightest reluctant smirk pulls at my mouth. “She deserves someone who doesn’t make her feel like a dirty little secret.”
He stands then—muscles coiling beneath tattoos and scars.
“I don’t want her to feel like that,” he says, voice rough with the truth. “I want her to feel wanted. She is wanted. More than she’ll ever know.”
And I nod once. “Well, if you want her… really want her… then you don’t get to sit in here stewing in silence.”
I suck in a breath. Let it out slowly, and then I say the thing that burns the most.
“You have my permission to go to her tonight.”
He scoffs, mouth twisting, but there’s no venom in it. “I don’t need your permission, but… I am happy knowing you won’t interrupt.”
“No, you don’t,” I say, voice like gravel. “But you needed to hear it.”
We stare at each other—two men caught in the same undertow, both drowning and fighting for air.
Then I turn for the door, tossing over my shoulder words sharp as broken glass. “Don’t fuck it up. If you hurt her, Riot—I will hurt you.”
The door clicks shut behind me, and I walk away—hoping he’ll do what I think he will, and hating myself for how much I need him to.
SAWYER
I’m finally settling under the blanket.
My thoughts haven’t stopped spinning, not even close. Jasper’s words. Riot’s words. The way both of them touched me, like they already knew I was theirs. I wonder if they’d be willing to share to keep me close…
Both of them? It makes no sense.
I think about it over and over in my head looking for an explanation, and that’s exactly why I can’t sleep.
So when a knock comes, my heart rockets into my throat. I freeze, every muscle tight.
Another knock, softer. Almost shy. Like he’s giving me a chance to ignore it.
But I hear him.
I always do.
I slip out of bed, padded steps quiet across the floor. My fingers hesitate at the handle.
Half of me knows who it is. The other half is terrified I’m wrong.
When I crack the door open, my breath stutters.
He’s leaning against the frame in sweats, hair wild under his backwards hat like he’s been pacing the halls, eyes ringed with shadow. His gaze sweeps over me, head to toe, like he was thinking I wouldn’t come to the door.
“Hey,” Riot says, voice warm, edged with something dangerous that makes my thighs press together. “I was gonna sneak in…but apparently, I’ve been granted permission.”
I blink, surprised. “What?”
He smirks, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Broody boyfriend sent me. Told me to stop acting like a secret and go to you.”
Heat floods my cheeks.
Jasper sent him in here?! What the…
Riot leans in just a little, bringing me out of my thoughts. “So…can I come in?”
I open the door wider to let him in, and close it quietly behind him. Suddenly, the room feels smaller, like the air itself is buzzing. Riot doesn’t say anything right away. He watches me… Every shiver, every shaky inhale. It should feel invasive. But I feel…seen.
He walks past me, moving to sit on the edge of my bed like he’s done it a hundred times. His tattooed forearms rest on his knees, lips twitching in thought.
I stand in front of him, and I can feel the space between us pulsing.
“Why did Jasper really send you?” I ask softly, eyes on my hands.
His voice is quiet, threaded with truth. “Because he knows I won’t stop wanting you just because he got there first.”
That makes my stomach flutter. And ache. “But what do you want, Riot?”
He looks at me then, eyes locking on mine with a look of raw honesty. “You.”
It’s one word, but it lands like a punch to the chest.
“I want to kiss you when you’re anxious and touch you when you’re overthinking.” He admits. “I want to make you forget all the ways this world made you feel small. Replace every shitty memory with one that ends in you moaning my name.”
Heat flushes down my spine, and every thought other than ’him’ disappears.
“And I want you to look at me the way you look at him. With that soft little ache in your eyes. Like maybe I matter too.”