Chapter 27 Harlow #2
He swallows, and for a second, he looks younger, like the truth is heavy on his tongue.
“You trusted me as NumberEleven,” he says. “And I trusted you back. That isn’t stupid.”
The words don’t fix anything, but they hit the part of me that always assumes the worst about myself first. I wipe at my eyes like I’m offended by my own body.
“You dragged me here,” I say, voice shaking. “So say it. Say whatever you dragged me here to say.”
Grayson’s throat bobs. He looks at me like he’s choosing the cleanest version of truth.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For the way this feels like a betrayal, even though I didn’t plan it to be.” He pauses, then adds, quieter, “And I’m not going to ask you to forgive me right now.”
My chest physically hurts.
“I’m not going to ask you to be okay,” he continues. “I just…couldn’t disappear on you. But I also couldn’t keep being two people when I knew who you were.”
Two people.
My stomach flips at those words, because the dumbest part of this is that I don’t want him to disappear either.
In fact, I want the opposite. I want him close.
I want to sit and talk for hours in person instead of on a screen.
I want to touch him again and have my nervous system stop shaking like it’s afraid of being happy.
But this is what happens when you trust someone. You give them the ultimate weapon to hurt you with.
But when has he ever given me a single reason not to trust him until now?
I stare at him. He stays still, like he’s giving me the dignity of choice. Like he won’t move unless I do. And I hate that the steadiness makes my chest ache harder.
I stare at the ice again because my vision is blurring, and I refuse to cry in a rink, like the building isn’t already full of my worst days.
I whisper, “What do you want?”
Grayson’s gaze flickers, like the answer is dangerous.
“Right now?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I drag in a shaky breath. “Right now.”
He swallows. “I want you to have control,” he says. “I want you to stay if you want. I want you to leave if that’s what you want. And I want you to know that I won’t follow unless you ask me to.”
My hands shake less now. My chest still hurts.
I exhale slowly. “Okay.”
His shoulders drop on a heavy exhale like he didn’t realize he was holding his breath.
I stare at him again, and my throat tightens around the words lodged there like a splinter.
Then the question I’ve been terrified to ask pushes its way out anyway.
“Was any of it real?” My voice goes small. “Or was it just…you being nice to a stranger?”
Grayson’s eyes sharpen.
His voice turns firm—not angry. Certain.
“It was real,” he says. “All of it.”
I can’t look away.
He swallows once, and I can see the effort in it. Like he’s choosing not to hide.
“You were real,” he says, slower. “And I cared about you. Even as a username.”
My throat tightens.
“And then I met you,” he continues, and something in his expression shifts—soft, helpless. “The real you. And it was like my body recognized you before my brain caught up.”
My pulse stutters.
“I’ve never been drawn to someone the way I’ve been drawn to you,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t make sense. It just…is.”
Heat creeps up my neck, traitorous and humiliating.
He shakes his head once, like he’s frustrated with himself.
“I kept telling myself that I was imagining patterns,” he admits. “That I was just…wanting it to line up because it would explain why you felt like both people at once.”
His eyes meet mine again.
“And yeah,” he says with a rough voice, “a part of me hoped you were the same person.”
My chest does a somersault. I look away because my face is betraying me. Because the heat blooming across my skin feels like proof.
I whisper, almost to myself, “This is a lot.”
“I know,” he says, and it isn’t soothing or dismissive.
It’s just understanding.
Silence stretches. Not comfortable. Not unbearable either. Just loaded.
My fingers curl around the strap of my tote like I’m ready to bolt. Grayson notices—of course he does. He doesn’t move closer. He doesn’t reach. He just asks quietly, “Do you want me to go?”
I hate the question because it puts choice in my lap, and choice is terrifying.
I swallow hard.
“No,” I whisper.
It comes out too honest. His breath leaves him like relief he’s trying not to show. My chest still hurts. But the world stops tilting quite as hard. I stare straight ahead and say the thing that feels like a threat and a plea at the same time.
“Kai can’t know yet.”
Grayson goes still.
Then he nods once, slow. “Okay.”
“You can’t tell him,” I say quickly, panic spiking. “He’ll—he’ll turn it into something bigger. He’ll cage me.”
Grayson’s jaw tightens. “I won’t tell him.”
I glance at him, suspicious. “You swear?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “I swear.”
Then, softer—like he’s offering a future without demanding it, “When you’re ready, I’ll talk to him. I’ll take it.”
My chest physically aches, as if it’s being torn in two.
He’s trying to protect me from being collateral damage.
I whisper, “I need time.”
Grayson nods once and looks back to the ice. “Take it.”
So I do.
I pause for one second, looking over his face one more time, then I turn and walk away.