Chapter 23
Ethan
Ilet her have the last word because watching her eat matters more.
She finishes the second half with stubborn little bites, glaring at me as if every chew is an act of rebellion. It’s adorable. She thinks defiance and surrender are opposites. With her, they keep arriving together.
When she’s done, she wipes her fingers on a napkin and reaches for her drink, her lips closing over the top of the straw. I picture that mouth parted around my name. Around my cock. Around anything I decide to give her.
The thought lands low and hard.
I set my sandwich down and take a slow drink instead.
Her eyes flick to me over the rim of the bottle. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re thinking something filthy.”
“I am.”
Colour rises in her cheeks. It’s not fragile anymore. It’s real. Blood under skin. Life. Fury. Heat. She’s coming back to herself in ugly little pieces, and every bit of it belongs to us.
“To be clear,” she says, “that isn’t a compliment.”
“Who said it was?”
She gives me a look that promises violence and takes another sip of her drink.
I enjoy every second of it.
“Are you okay after what Aidan did yesterday?”
She frowns and puts her drink down. “What Aidan did? You mean what I did?”
“Aidan lost control. Did he hurt you?”
“He didn’t. I asked for it.”
“I know you did.” I keep my voice even. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Her jaw clenches. “I’m fine.”
“You threw up afterwards.”
“That wasn’t because of him.”
“No?” I ask. “What was it, then?”
Her gaze drops. “Everything.”
That, at least, is honest.
I sit back and study her face while she tries not to squirm under it. She hates being read. She hates that I can do it anyway. The truth is written all over her now. She is raw enough that she can’t hide the quick flashes. Shame. Need. Anger. Hunger. Confusion. She is a fucking masterpiece.
“Aidan pushes,” I say. “Sometimes too far.”
Her eyes sharpen. Defensive. Not for herself. For him. “You all do.”
“True.”
“And stop acting like he did something to me.”
“I’m making sure you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay. Nowhere near okay.” The words come out rough, scraped raw from somewhere deep.
For a second, I say nothing. I just look at her, at the fury brightening her face, at the way her fingers tighten around the bottle like she wants something solid to hold on to while everything else shifts under her.
“I know,” I say, eventually.
She lets out a short, unbelieving laugh. “Do you?”
“Better than most.”
“That’s convenient for you.”
“It is.” I pick up my drink again, more to give her space than because I want it. “Doesn’t make it untrue.”
Her stare turns sharp enough to cut. “You don’t get to sit there acting gentle when you’re part of this. You don’t get to ask if I’m okay as if you aren’t one of the reasons I’m not.”
“I know exactly what I am. I also know that if I walked away from you now, if we all did, you’d be back to being lost, alone and terrified of what you might do.”
The words are harsh. But she needs to know that I know this about her.
Her throat works as she swallows. She looks away first. “You say that like you care,” she says quietly.
“I do care.”
“That’s the sick part.”
I let that sit between us. She isn’t wrong. Caring about someone this much, this fast, this absolutely, isn’t healthy. I’ve never once pretended I’m built for healthy.
“Do you want me to lie to you?” I ask.
“I wanted you to have never lied in the first place. I wanted a choice to fuck Aidan, not fuck him thinking he was you.”
“I get that you’re angry and upset, but—”
“No buts. How can there be a but? Just admit that it was wrong.”
“It was wrong. We were trying to protect you. Ease you into knowing us. We know that if we had surrounded you, you’d have run for the hills and then God knows what would’ve happened to you.”
“Why do you think I would’ve run?”
“Don’t try to pretend you wouldn’t have,” I say.
“I’m not running now,” she points out. “I should.”
“But now is different. You had already come to terms with needing me. Finding out that Aidan and Callan were also with you is less of a blow.”
“To who?” she asks bitterly.
“To you,” I say. “Not to us.”
Her laugh is hollow this time. “Of course.”
I rest my forearms on the table and keep my voice low. “If you’d met all three of us at once, you’d have seen a threat. Too much attention. Too much pressure. You would’ve bolted before you let yourself feel anything.”
“I did feel something.” Her eyes pin me in place. “That’s why this is so disgusting.”
The words land where they’re meant to. I take them without flinching.
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” She wipes her hands again, even though they’re already clean. “You keep talking about strategy. Protection. Timing. Like this was some careful plan. I’m a person.”
“You are a person. You’re our person.”
Her expression hardens. “That is fucked up.”
I finish my drink and set it down. “It’s the truth.”
She goes quiet. I know better than to crowd the silence. With Annabelle, silence is where the real things crawl out.
When she finally speaks, her voice is smaller. Not weaker. Just more honest. “Do you ever hear yourselves?”
“All the time.”
“And you still think this is a good idea?” Her gaze flicks to mine, intense.
“I think it’s the only idea that matters,” I say.
She stares at me as if she wants to throw what’s left of her drink in my face. I would respect it if she did. At least it would be honest. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m consistent.”
“That isn’t better.”
“It is when your life is involved.”
Her lips press together. She hates that answer because she cannot dismiss it without dismissing what she was before us.
I lower my voice. “I’m not asking you to forgive us for how we did this.”
“Good. Because I don’t.”
“I’m asking you to stay alive long enough to hate us properly.”
A flicker passes across her face. Hurt first. Then, reluctant amusement, buried under all the rest. “That’s a shit line.”
“It worked. You nearly smiled.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
She shakes her head and reaches for a crisp. The motion is irritated, automatic. Normal. I watch her bite into it and feel a quiet satisfaction settle in my soul.
The waitress reappears with the bill tray, hovering just a second too long again. I look up at her once. It is enough. She puts it down and leaves without a word.
“Can we just go?” she asks. “I need to get back to work.”
I nod and slide some cash onto the tray.
Getting up, I hold out my hand. She reaches for it automatically. I pull her toward the exit. I keep my pace steady, so she doesn’t stumble. She follows. Her hand is small in mine, a quiet admission of the hold I have over her. Every step we take back toward the library feels like a countdown.
I stop at the library doors. I don’t let go of her hand immediately. I want her to feel the weight of the connection. I want it to burn into her skin, so she remembers it when she is surrounded by dust and paper.
“I’ll be right outside,” I state.
“I know,” she says.
I reach out and tuck a stray blonde hair behind her ear.
Her skin is warm. I want to pull her back to the apartment and lock the door.
I want to see if I can make her forget her name.
Instead, I release her. She looks at the doors, then back at me.
Her blue eyes are wide. I see the conflict there. I see the woman she is becoming.
Then, she turns and disappears inside. I stand on the pavement for a moment before I head back to the car. The city moves around me, but my focus remains on the building behind me. I stay exactly where I promised I would be until Aidan shows up to swap with me.