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“Grayson?” His name comes out on a breath, a question mark curling at the end of it, but I know it’s true. I can feel his presence, a magnetic pull even in the pitch-black.
“Yes. Grayson,” he repeats.
His grip loosens and I shove him back, my hands finding his chest—a wall of muscle beneath his shirt. “What the hell, Grayson? You can’t just?—”
“Sorry,” he murmurs, but there’s no regret in the way he stands too close, his breath a warm whisper against my cheek.
“Scaring me isn’t a joke.” My voice is sharp, a whipcrack in the cramped space. “And you have no right. Not anymore.”
He takes a step back, shadows from the single sliver of light playing over his face. “I know,” he says, and it’s as if those two words carry the weight of every moment we’ve ever shared.
“Then why?” I demand, my heart thudding against my ribs, betraying the irritation that laces my tone.
“Because,” he starts, the word hanging between us, charged and heavy. “I thought I could handle this—I thought I’d had enough, Brielle. I thought it was just the sex, but?—”
“Grayson…” His name is a warning, a plea, and something else I can’t quite name.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, Brielle.” His confession slips into the air, raw and unfiltered. “It’s like you’re under my skin and I…”
His voice trails off. I stand motionless, every nerve ending alight with the proximity of him, with the echo of words left hanging in the stale air of our concealment.
I cut him off with a sharp inhale, the air around us crackling with tension. My heart’s a wild thing in my chest, pounding out a solid rhythm. Every fiber of my being screams to hear the rest of his confession, to let those unfinished words spill from his lips and wash over me.
But I can’t. I won’t.
“Grayson, stop.” The words slice through the thick atmosphere, severing the tenuous connection between us. It’s a lifeline I refuse to grab. “Our agreement is fulfilled. We’re done.”
I can’t get pulled into this again. I need to move forward.
“I can’t…I know it’s not right?—”
“I can’t keep thinking about sleeping with my dad’s best friends, and you’re making it harder when you seek me out. I need you to stop.”
My hand finds the doorknob behind me, cold and unyielding. I twist it, the click of the latch loud in the silent closet. The door swings open, a sliver of reality piercing our bubble of stifled emotions.
“Wait,” he pleads, but I’m already stepping out.
“Goodbye, Grayson.” It’s a whisper, a ghost of a promise as I slip into the bustle of the hallway.
The light from the corridor stings my eyes, harsh after the dimness of the closet. Students pass by, their voices distant, muffled by the blood rushing in my ears.
I don’t look back. Can’t look back.
I push through the crowd, Grayson’s words clinging to me like a second skin, an itch I desperately want to scratch.
Under my skin…
My breath hitches, catching on the edge of a sob or a laugh—I can’t tell which.
“Focus, Brielle,” I mutter under my breath.
The mere thought of him, of what could have been spilled forth if I’d allowed it, sends shivers down my spine. I wrap my arms around myself, a vain attempt to quell the longing that threatens to consume me.
“Just keep moving.”
15
LEVI
