I sit there long after she relaxes against me, staring at nothing, feeling the weight of the choices I’ve avoided for years pressing closer.
Because now there’s someone who notices when I retreat. Someone who doesn’t chase me but also doesn’t disappear when I pull away. Someone who fits into my life easily enough that I can’t pretend this is casual anymore.
I don’t need to decide everything today, but I do need to stop pretending I can keep things separate because sooner or later, the walls I haven’t torn down yet will matter.
And if I wait too long, I know exactly what I’ll lose.
Chapter Forty-Two
Melissa
By Monday afternoon, the unease has settled into my bones.
It isn’t panic. It isn’t dread. It’s something quieter and more persistent. A low hum beneath my thoughts that I can’t shake, no matter how busy I keep myself.
Sunday wasn’t bad.
That’s the problem.
If it had been bad, if Colton had shut down completely, snapped at me, or gone cold, I would know what to do with that. I’ve lived through grief. I understand sharp edges. Pain that announces itself is easier to hold than uncertainty that lingers politely.
Sunday was gentle. It was peaceful.
And yet I keep replaying the moment his jaw tightened. The way his voice sharpened slightly before he smoothed it back into something calm. The way he didn’t answer Aubrey’s calls but also didn’t push it away.
I understand why. I really do.
But understanding doesn’t erase the fear that this is where he stalls or where things stop moving forward because forward requires confronting something he’s spent years outrunning.
I don’t want him to rush, but I also don’t want to be standing still forever.
By the time my shift ends, I’m exhausted in that deep, quiet way that has nothing to do with patient care. I change out of my scrubs slowly, my movements absent-minded, replaying conversations that never quite happened.
I’m tying my hair back when my phone buzzes in my locker.
Colton: Can you come over tonight?
No explanation or an indicator of anything. Just the quiet ask.
Me: Okay.
The reply comes immediately.
Colton: Thank you.
That alone tells me this isn’t about convenience. My nerves start to become alert as I wonder if this is all too much for him.
The doorman greets me by name again, and I smile politely, but my mind is elsewhere. When the private elevator doors slide shut, I exhale slowly, settling into the quiet.
Whatever tonight is, I don’t want to meet it guarded.
I open into his penthouse, where the lights are on this time. The city still glows beyond the windows, sharp and alive, stretching endlessly in every direction.
He’s standing at the kitchen island when I step in, hands braced on the countertop, like he’s been there a while. Not pacing. Not distracted.
Waiting.
“Hey,” he says softly.
