Page 203 of On the Breakaway

My heart drops. “Are you serious?”

“What exactly do you want me to say, Avery?”

The way he says my name makes my stomach twist. It’s not baby or Chaos. It’s not soft. It’s just Avery.

I don’t want to be just Avery to him.

Panic starts climbing my spine.

“Pull over.”

“What?” He finally glances toward me.

“I said pull over.”

“Avery–”

“Pull the damn car over.” The words come out sharp.

Grayson lets out a loud exhale before flipping on his turn signal. Once there’s a break in traffic, he pulls into an empty parking lot beside a closed pharmacy.

The car rolls to a stop, and his hand flexes on the gear shift as he puts it in park.

I turn toward him, but he doesn’t budge, instead staring straight out the windshield into the parking lot.

It looks like he’s bracing for impact, and I don’t know how to talk to him like this. Grayson is the one who’s good at this kind of shit. He’s the one who knows how to talk about his feelings. He’s the one who climbs my walls until he really sees me.

“Why are you acting like this?”

That same stupid, dark laugh slips off his lips.

My voice drops. “Stop being like this. Please.”

“Being like what?”

“Like you’ve already decided what happens next.”

That finally gets him to look at me, and the hurt in his eyes is so raw it knocks the breath out of me.

“Like I’ve decided what happens next?” His brows furrow. “I never decide anything here, Avery. You do. You decide. And you made it pretty clear what that decision was.”

“Grayson.” My voice shakes.

“Can we just not do this tonight?” He asks, his eyes glistening.

“I’ve been sitting outside that locker room for hours waiting for you, and you’re acting like you don’t even want me here.”

His jaw clenches. “Why are you here?”

I push my hair out of my face, fingers digging into my scalp. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.” His voice cracks as he scrubs a hand down his face. “Do you feel guilty? Or like you owe me some sort of conversation for closure?”

The blow hurts enough that I physically flinch.

His eyes close briefly before focusing on me. “I don’t know how many different ways I can hear you say you don’t want me before I finally believe it.”

Every ounce of air in the car vanishes, and I can’t breathe.