The words ‘taste sweet in his mouth,’ but all I feel is the sting of his palms and the weight of a man I wish I didn’t have to fear.
He places the coffee on the nightstand, the clinkof ice echoing loudly in the silence. The bouquet follows, petals brushing the wood.
“Look at me, baby,” he says, his voice trembling just enough to sound human. “Please.”
I don’t look at him as he begs.
Keeping my eyes on the wall, I trace the faint shadow of moonlight slipping through the windows.
My chest feels taut, I feel the pace of my breaths quickening, and this dread curling low in my stomach.
He moves closer, the mattress sagging beneath him. I flinch before I can stop myself. His hand halts halfway to mine.
“Layla…” His voice cracks, and he drops his gaze, as if he’s the one hurt. “I don’t know what got into me. I just—” He exhales shakily, running his thumb over his lower lip. “You’re everything to me.”
I’ve heard them before. Every time he crosses a line, every time he swears, it won’t happen again. And for a moment, I almost let myself believe it, because that’s what I always do.
He reaches out again, his fingertips brushing my wrist. “Please, baby. Just look at me.”
Brushing my hair out of my face, I tilt my head slowly until I meet his blue eyes.
He looks exactly the same as he did when he laid his hands on me; same tousled hair, same tired eyes, but all I see is a flash of anger, the way his jaw tightens before everything goes black around the edges.
“Brian,” I whisper, my voice barely there. “You can’t do this again.”
He smiles, small and shaky. “I know. I know, baby. I’m fixing it. I swear.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead before I can pull away. “You’ll see.”
The coffee sweats on the nightstand, dripping condensation onto the wood.
I stare at it, at the brown ring it leaves behind, at the tiny mess that will stain if I don’t wipe it up.
My phone buzzes again under the blanket. I don’t need to look to know it’s Reed again.
I don’t feel guilty about wishing I were somewhere else; somewhere warm, quiet, and safe, with a man who doesn’t make me fear my own heartbeat.
He notices the vibration, his eyes flicking toward the phone, and his smile falters.
“Who’s that?” he asks, his voice calm yet tense, a storm brewing beneath.
My pulse stutters. “Probably just Amelia,” I lie, forcing a small shrug. “She’s been talking about Leo.”
He hums. “At midnight?”
He starts pacing, running a hand through his hair as if trying to compose himself.
The gesture seems rehearsed. I remain perfectly still, my fingers clutching the blanket.
“Brian—”
“I said I’m sorry,” he interrupts. “I’m standing here trying to fix us, and you’re sitting there texting someone else?”
The sweetness in his voice fades. The fake-ass apology, the flowers, the coffee, all of it fades away.
My throat tightens. “You don’t understand?—”
“Don’t lie to me, Layla!” he snaps, stepping closer.
His eyes flick to my phone again, the blue glow from the screen reflecting off the anger already building in his face.
