Page 71 of The Next Lie

“I’ll always come back.”

“But aren’t you…” I fix my gaze on his chest, unable to look him in the eye. “Aren’t you mad that I didn’t wait?”

“No. We’re sharing you, firefly, and someone picked up my slack. As long as you didn’t dream about closets, I’m good.”

There is no heat in his voice. Heat I know what to do with. Heat can be kissed or fought or turned into something with teeth.

Ever’s steadiness is worse. It asks for honesty.

I swallow. “I didn’t dream about closets.”

“I know you didn’t.”

My eyes snap up.

He shrugs once and gives me a little sideways smirk. “Nash made sure to tell me.”

Naturally. My cheeks heat, and Shiloh makes a deeply suspicious sound near the weapons rack.

I point at him. “Do not.”

He lifts both hands. “I have said nothing.”

“You thought very loudly.”

“I’m gifted that way.”

Ever’s fingers brush the inside of my wrist, just above the rubber bands. Barely there. A question, not a claim.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he says.

Ever steps back. “Break’s over.”

I groan, but I step back onto the mat.

This time, when Ever reaches for me, I move before fear can make the decision. His hand closes around my wrist.

I turn toward the thumb. Drop my weight. Drive my elbow. Make space.

Ever releases me, and Shiloh’s approval is warm against my back.

“Better,” Ever says. “Again.”

I stand in the middle of the mat, sweat cooling on my skin, Cal’s voice still echoing in my head, Delia’s face waiting behind my eyes, Deacon’s name lodged somewhere under my ribs.

I am still being lied to. Still hunted. Still angry enough to bite through bone.

But my hands are up, and my feet are under me.

And when Ever reaches again, I am ready.

By the time Ever finally lets me stop, my arms feel like overcooked pasta and my pride has taken several body blows.

Shiloh hands me a bottle of water. “You were terrifying, Yank; well done.”

“I fell down six times.”

“But you did so terrifyingly.”