I rake a hand through my hair and blow out a breath.
Why is she being so fucking stubborn?
“She’s not stubborn, son,” Dad chuckles behind me.
My head snaps toward him and I blink.Shit—did I say that out loud?
He gives me a look, like I should already know what he’s thinking.
But I don’t. Not with her.
With Sadie, I am permanently and clinically incapable of doing the right thing. I can’t seem to stop fucking up and making everything worse. Even trying to keep my distance, I end up hurting her more than if I’d just admit the truth.
And that kills me more than anything.
She’s almost to the porch when Dad says quietly, “She might’ve grown up in a big house full of staff, but that girl’s been alone a long time. Don’t pile on. Go easy on her. She’s trying.”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
My eyes are glued to her small, furious figure marching toward the porch.
Trying.
And I’ve done nothing but push her away.
“What the hell are you waiting for?” Dad grunts. “A formal invitation? Go fix your mess.”
And I do.
My body moves before my brain catches up, before giving it a second thought. Just as she steps onto the porch, I catch her, my fingers wrapping around her wrist—too tight, too desperate, mirroring how I feel inside.
She whirls around, eyes red and swollen, and I am ruined. Her eyes hold mine, daring me to make things worse. Like she expects it. And why shouldn’t she? I’m not capable of anything else.
“Look, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—but you’re blowing thiswayout of proportion.”
My voice comes out too sharp. Patronizing. The exact opposite of my intentions.
A frown flickers across her face, her eyes narrowing as she tries to twist her arm out of my hand.
“You can’t just keep running off every time you’re feeling pissy,” I blurt, pulling her back again.
Her voice is low, lethal.“Pissy?”She glares down at my hand on her wrist. “Wesley, let me go.”
I release my hold immediately.
“Yeah,Princess,” I sneer, hating the way the words taste in my mouth. “Just ’cause you’re in a bad mood and seem to lack a sense of humor, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on everyone else.”
She growls—actually growls—then spins back around and storms up the remaining steps.
I follow. I shouldn’t. But I do. Because I’m done trying to make the right choices. I’m done letting her slip away.
She makes it all the way to her bedroom door before I plant my arm across the frame, blocking her in. I don’t touch her. I don’t have to. The space between us pulls tight, humming with want.
“Wesley…”
My name spills from her mouth in a whisper.
She won’t look at me. Her eyes are locked on the doorknob like she’ll break apart if she meets my gaze.
