Addy gives a tired laugh, and the sound nearly undoes me.
Because she’s here, standing in my home, in front of me, alive and pale and too far away, and I have no idea how to touch her.
I’ve touched her a hundred ways. In anger, in want, in comfort. In bed. Against walls. Half laughing, half desperate, as if we were both trying to prove that whatever burned between us could exist without consequences.
But now there are consequences. Now there’s a hospital bracelet still around her wrist. Now she’s looking at me, waiting to find out whether I’m another man who leaves.
“Addy,” I say.
Her eyes meet mine. “Hi.”
As if we are acquaintances. As if I didn’t spend the night imagining every possible future and fearing all of them.
Oliver tugs her sleeve. “Come see my new runway. I made it with blocks in my room.”
Addy looks down at him, and the softness on her face hurts. “In a minute, sweetheart.”
Luci steps in smoothly. “Actually, you’re going to show me. I have very strong opinions about airport infrastructure.”
Oliver brightens. “You do?”
“No, but I’m confident.”
Captain follows them because Captain follows joy, snacks, and drama in equal measure.
That leaves Addy and me in the entry.
The apartment expands around the silence.
I take a step toward her. “You should sit down.”
Her brows lift faintly. “That’s your opening line?”
My jaw tightens. “No. That was my panic speaking.”
A small flicker of emotion crosses her face. Not quite a smile.
I’ll take it.
“Come here,” I say, softer.
She hesitates.
That hesitation is a knife.
Then she walks past me toward the living room.
I deserve that too.
I follow her, keeping more distance than I want because every instinct in me is shouting the wrong commands. Pick her up. Put her on the couch. Call three specialists. Buy the hospital.Threaten anyone who made her cry. Seal every exit so nothing can take her from this room.
None of that’s love.
Control isn’t love.
I know that.
I still want control more than air.