Page 44 of Top Shelf

I blink fast, the hallway spinning slightly. My chest aches with the effort it takes not to crumble.

Forcing myself to hold his stare, my voice is strong, stable, as I say, “I know you were there.”

It’s the first time I’ve said those words aloud.

“I…remember your voice.”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t pretend, just watches me withthose calculating eyes. The tension between us coils tight, taut like a wire pulled too far. AndGod, I can’t stand the pressure.

His hand lifts to my face, fingers twitching like he wants to touch me, but he doesn’t. He stops himself halfway, hand hovering in midair. The heat of his body rolls over me like a tide. I press further into the wall, the blend of his leather and oud scent too much to my frayed psyche.

He seems to be waiting for something, and after looking everywhere and anywhere to avoid meeting his stare, I finally summon the courage and do exactly that. Deep pools of hazel threaten to pull me in. While his eyes are usually unreadable, now I can see something flickering in their depths. It’s too fleeting to name yet too raw for him to hide. A crack in the armor. A sliver of something real.

Concern?

For me or for himself?

Or for what I know? For what I could say? For everything I could ruin for him?

Blood roars in my ears. I can feel my pulse in my throat, in my wrists.Everywhere.

And all he’s doing is looking at me.

Watching.

Waiting.

Like he’s daring me to look away first.

Except, I don’t. I can’t. It hits me harder than it should—this glimpse of humanity in someone I’ve only known as a ghost of that night. It tangles with the fear already coiling in my chest, making it harder to distinguish one emotion from another.

I don’t know if I hate him or if I’m terrified that he sees too much.

Or if I want to be close enough to look again.

To see if it’s still there—that flicker. That break. That proof he’s not made entirelyof ice.

And worst of all, for the briefest second…I think he’s scared too.

After a long silence, he steps back. Just far enough for me to breathe again, but before he turns to leave, his voice breaks the quiet one last time.

“You should ask yourself if what you think happened that night…is the whole truth.”

Then he’s gone. He walks away without another look. No glance back over his shoulder. No hesitation in his steps.

He’s just…gone without giving me time to rebuild what he cracked open.

I’m left slumped against the wall, every cell in my body shaking. Not just from fear, but from the weight of his stare still lingering on my skin. The phantom heat of him too close.

From the sick twist of something else blooming beneath the terror.

Something that feels like want.

Something I don’t want to name.

Because if I name it…I can’t take it back.

And if I admit it…it becomes real.