Eighteen
Theo
D espite dressing at superhuman speed—first shirt I pull from my closet shoved over my head, jeans yanked on, hoodie snatched off a hanger—I already know I’m too late.
Years too late.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I hit the ground floor in a heartbeat. Willow is perched on the living room couch with a picture book on her lap and Jovie curled into her chest. She looks up as I barrel past—blonde brows arching, eyes gleaming with interest as she clocks my disheveled state.
“Theo?” she calls over my niece’s head. “What—”
Cursing under my breath, I dash for the front door. My bare feet slap against the floor as I tug my boots on, not bothering with the laces. I forgo my coat to save precious seconds .
The moment I step onto the porch, the cold wind attacks my exposed skin. Thick, heavy snowflakes whip around me, stinging my face.
Even Mother Nature seems eager to punish me for the fuckup.
Through the blur of white, I spot Isla, her red hair a streak of fire lashing through the snowy backdrop. She’s at the edge of the yard, about to be swallowed up by the forest behind the property.
I shout her name as I break into a sprint.
She ignores me. Not that I blame her.
I drive forward, quickly closing the gap. Desperation gripping my throat, every step through the knee-deep snow buries me further into the mess I created.
“Isla, damn it, stop !”
She doesn’t break stride. The only sign she’s heard me is the sharp increase in her pace.
Running at full speed, I’m nearly caught up when she turns, eyes blazing.
“Leave me alone!”
When I don’t obey, she ducks down and grabs some fresh powder. By the time she straightens, a loose, misshapen snowball hurls my way. It hits my chest with a soft thud , but the cold barely registers.
“Please let me explain.”
“No, thanks.” She digs into the snow again, throwing another handful, this time striking my arm. “I’m done letting you fuck with my head.” Her eyes flash—not only with anger, but something more vulnerable.
Hurt .
I despise myself for being the cause of it .
“Isla,” I start again, my voice coated in regret. My whole body vibrates, fingers itching to reach for her, but guilt anchors me in place. “I didn’t—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she cuts me off, shaking her head rapidly.
The storm turns feral, snow slicing sideways, wind shrieking as it claws at our skin. The world around us echoes the chaos between us.
She shivers, breaths fractured and chest rising in shallow bursts as white puffs curl into the cold.
Her fuzzy sweater and jeans are no match for the weather. I curse myself for not grabbing a jacket.
“Here.” I rip off my hoodie and hold it out to her. “Put this on.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Quit pretending you care.”
“I’m not pretending.” The admission is immediate. Firm. “Either you put it on, or I’ll do it for you.”
Her mouth pops open. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” The challenge rumbles from my chest, but before I can take another step, she’s bolting again—long curtain of hair whipping behind her like a matador’s flag.
I pause, watching her reckless sprint into the woods behind the house. For a fleeting moment, it’s just her. A wild, untethered force of nature.
A beat later, I give in to the chase, my feet devouring the space between us.
She throws a glance over her shoulder. Our eyes lock—mine narrowing with intent, hers flaring with panic.
Her steps falter at a tree, but she doesn’t veer. Instead, she slams her palms against the trunk and spins to face me.
“What the—” The rest of her sentence is cut off as I yank my sweatshirt over her head.
“Theo!” she sputters, my name muffled by cotton. “You can’t just…” Her huff is so vigorous it makes her bangs flutter. “I don’t need you to be my hero.”
She’s obviously not talking about the hoodie that’s now swallowing her whole.
“In fact, I don’t need anything from you!”
Her arms jerk beneath the fabric as she fights to free herself from its restraints. After some frantic tugging, she succeeds.
“I know you don’t need me,” I say. “I came to apologize. For my silence. My selfishness. I made decisions without considering how they’d affect you.”
“You rejected me when I was young and stupid. A teenager in love. It fucking hurt.” Her voice cracks, but she powers through.
“You know what, though? I got it. Eventually. Once the heartbreak and humiliation faded, I realized it wasn’t about me.
It was about you . And I accepted that. Even if it ripped me apart. That’s where it should’ve ended.”
She lifts her chin and glares at me. “You didn’t have to seek me out at AdCraft.
Haunt me. Hover at the edges of my life like a ghost. You became a shadow I couldn’t shake.
Smoke that kept filling my lungs. You made me choke on your presence and your absence.
I hated you for it. But I hated myself even more for still caring when you left. ”
Her cheeks are flushed, lips parted, chest heaving with each furious word. From the tension in her shoulders to the fists she has balled at her sides, every inch of her is wound so tight.
She’s rage and radiance.
So fucking beautiful it hurts.
“You torture me with a year of silence, then crash Christmas, tossing out mixed signals and leaving me to brace for your inevitable exit. ”
She’s not wrong. I’ve been reckless, tearing through every boundary I’d built six years ago. At first, I planned to tread lightly. Test the waters. But the moment Asher put his arm around her, that control shattered .
“I summon the courage to try again, to offer you something simple—my body, one time, no strings—and you shoot me down. Again . I don’t get it. I don’t get you. What do you want from me? Because it sure as hell isn’t me .” Her bottom lip trembles, and my chest tightens in response.
“I’m pissed, I’m confused, and I’m so damn tired of you, Theo Thorne!
” Her words fall out in a fractured rush.
“Tired of wanting someone who doesn’t want me.
Tired of hoping you’ll give me anything more than heartbreak.
” She laughs bitterly. “But I guess that’s on me, right?
I’m the idiot who doesn’t know when to quit. I’m so freaking stu—”
“ Don’t .” I step closer. “Don’t turn my mistakes into your faults.”
“How can I not?” She throws up her arms, exhaling in exasperation. “I'm ju—”
“ Stop .” I’m on her before she can tear herself apart any further.
No plan. Zero thought.
Just raw instinct.
I cage her face in both hands and drag her mouth to mine, obliterating the space between us.
Isla doesn’t resist—she responds. Immediately. At full-force.
Our lips collide in a brutal clash of lust and longing, years of choked-down want and buried tension detonating on impact.
Fuck fireworks.
We’re live explosives.
A direct hit from a supernova .
The kiss is nothing like the reverent, romantic ones I forged in my illicit fantasies.
There’s no worship. Only rough, carnal warfare.
She tastes like a contradiction. The sweetest temptation laced with a craving I’ve denied too long. Everything I want—yet nothing I’ve earned.
I pour years of silence, guilt, and restraint into her. She meets me with fire, and something that feels a hell of a lot like hope.
At some point, shrewdness cuts through the frenzy overriding my self-control and begs me to slow down.
Take your time. Stay sane.
Too late. I’m already lost in her.
In defiance of reason, I devour her mouth, tongue plunging deeper, reshaping the past with every stroke. History and heartbreak can’t be kissed into submission, but I’m delusional enough to try. I lap up her moans, swallow each whimper, and strip her taste raw until I own every sugary molecule.
Her cinnamon scent floods my lungs. I inhale sharply, greedy for more. If I could, I’d brand her into my soul.
That thought unleashes something primal. Isla senses it— feeds it —and joins me in the ruin. The kiss turns darker. Harsher. More violent.
Her nails bite into my biceps. Hard .
My hands fist in her hair. Harder .
When her teeth dig into my bottom lip, a feral growl rips from my throat.
That’s the only warning she gets before I hike her leg around my waist and pin her to the tree.
Isla gasps, body seizing, muscles tightening.
We share a breath of stillness as our eyes lock.
That’s all it takes .
Then the storm around us erupts, and she’s on me. Rocking. Writhing. Clawing at my back like she wants to tear me open and crawl inside.
I shift, drop my weight, and drive up into her, meeting her need with force and friction.
One hand clamps her hip, grinding her down on every ruthless inch of pressure.
The other slides up her front—past her stomach, to her breast, then her neck.
Possessive fingers curl around her throat, collaring her in place.
My thumb tips her chin up, holding her at the mercy of my mouth.
She whimpers. I curse.
And fuck .
We’re right there. Together.
Clothes on. Self-control flayed.
I’m so hard it hurts, seconds from a pulse-shattering first.
Even through the denim, every thrust of my cock against her heat shoves me closer to oblivion.
I want to praise her. Tell her how good she’s doing. How perfect she looks straddling the edge of abandon. Make it clear I’d give up everything to keep her here forever.
But I can’t speak. Can’t think.
Hell, I’m hanging on by a thread.
Her wild pulse beats in our kiss, and I swear she can taste the thunder of my heart, too.
It doesn’t take long for her moans to descend into ragged little sobs—then it’s my name she gasps as she breaks.
Pleasure surges at the sound, bringing with it a wave of possessiveness.
That mouth is made for my name.
A groan rips free from my chest as I come so hard I nearly black out .
Her release resonates with mine, and I hold on tight, guiding her through every jolt, every twitch, every sigh.
Into the aftermath.
And beyond.
When we finally pull apart, we’re both panting.
Her lips are shiny and swollen. My pulse roars, heart threatening to rip straight through my ribs. Despite my ruined boxers, there’s still a twitch beneath the denim of my jeans.
No part of me is ready to let go.
Isla’s glassy eyes lift to mine, unreadable. "That shouldn’t have happened,” she whispers in a voice as thin as ice.
Still, even as her words push me away, her fists stay knotted in my shirt.
“Isla…” I’m done hiding behind excuses. “Earlier in my room, I didn’t stop you because I don’t want you.”
Her brow furrows, lips parting like she’s about to question me.
“I stopped you because I want more than one time with you. I want everything you’re willing to give me. Every fucking string, Sunshine.”
“I don’t know what to say. That’s…”
“Terrifying,” I supply. “But true.”
“Then what’s the point of being scared?” Her gaze drops to her feet. When she looks up again, the intensity in her eyes slices clean through me. “Let’s just have fun for the rest of the holiday. This thing”—she gestures between us—“clearly worked.”
“Clearly.” The evidence is still hot against my skin.
“And it worked well.”
“Very well.” My mouth burns with the need to keep kissing her.
“I’d like to do it again,” she says.
Thank fuck .
“Same.” I need to do things right next time. Strip her down and worship every inch of her body. Take the time to make her feel like the only woman in the world. Show her what it would be like to be my entire universe.
“We can have that,” she says. “We should have that. As soon as you agree to no strings.”
“Isla, I—”
“ Please , Theo.” Her voice breaks, but she recovers fast. “If you try to tie me to you in any way, this week will end in heartbreak. Mine. Not yours. And you’re not worth the risk. Not anymore.”
I nod slowly, pain stabbing through the pleasure still clinging to my flesh.
As much as her words wound, the part of me that’s watched Isla grow into herself despite tragedy lights up with pride.
She’s claiming her power. Setting her terms.
Another part, darker and more selfish, wants to challenge her reluctance. Demand a shot at redemption. But that would only drive her further away.
So, instead, I hold her gaze, steady my voice, and nod.
“No strings,” I promise.
Even though I’ve never been more tangled in someone.