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"Fuck," I whisper, sinking onto the couch. The fabric holds the memory of our bodies intertwined, the rush of forbidden desires unleashed in the dark. His laughter, deep and infectious, resonates in the recesses of my mind. I miss him. Miss the way he made me feel seen, understood—even when his gaze burned too brightly, too possessively.
"Nova, you have to decide. What do you want?" My own voice sounds foreign, detached—as if the woman who fell for Blaze's charm is now a stranger. The image of him waiting on the other side of town, a sentinel of longing and regret, claws at me.
"Is this what love looks like?" I question the shadows, the answer elusive as the shifting patterns of moonlight on the wall.
"Love shouldn't need surveillance to survive," I argue with myself, recalling the app that splintered everything we'd built.
But then there's the flip side: Blaze, with his fierce loyalty and the way he'd go to hell and back for those he cares about. "He wanted to protect you," whispers a treacherous part of my psyche, one that craves the intensity of his embrace.
"Protect or control?" I challenge, the words tasting bitter.
"Nova..." His voice is a phantom caress against my ear. I can almost feel his breath, warm and pleading. But it's just the wind, isn't it? The world outside continues oblivious to the turmoil within.
"Blaze," I breathe out, the name a prayer, a curse. I curl up, knees to my chest, surrounded by the scent that lingers on the throw blanket—his scent. A heady mix of cologne and something uniquely him, it wraps around me, a seductive reminder of passion and pain.
"God, I'm so messed up," I confess to the emptiness, a tear betraying my resolve as it traces a burning path down my cheek. In my mind, I see him, standing resolute at his window, waiting for a sign, any sign.
"Can I really just walk away?" I ask the silence. There's no reply, just the echo of a heartbeat that still syncs with his, despite the distance.
"Maybe...maybe I need to face this. Face him." The thought is terrifying, liberating. I stand, feeling the shift within, the softening of edges sharpened by hurt and fear.
"Blaze Montgomery, you've got me all twisted up," I admit to the darkness, knowing that, despite it all, there's a part of me that isn't ready to let go. Not yet. Not without a fight.
"Maybe we both deserve a second chance," I whisper to the night, the first step toward reconciliation heavy, uncertain, but imbued with a flicker of hope that refuses to die.
CHAPTERNINE
Blaze
I'm standingoutside Nova's beachfront house, the boombox perched on my shoulder like a declaration of war against silence, defiance blaring through its speakers. The night is thick with the scent of salt and jasmine, but all I can taste is the bitter tang of desperation as I play our song—a heartbroken anthem that's supposed to bridge the chasm between us.
"Come back to me," the singer croons, a digital plea that might as well be torn from my own chest.
The night wraps its somber shawl around me, thick with the scent of impending rain. The boombox I clutch feels like a talisman, a last-ditch effort cast into the universe. It's a relic, but tonight, it's the emissary of my raw heart, spitting out a heartbroken love song that cuts through the silence like a scream.
"Your absence is a thorn, under my skin," croons the singer, his voice a haunting whisper that seems to bleed right into the darkness. The melody's a slow burn, sultry and sad, each note a reflection of the ache in my chest.
My hands tremble, the boombox heavy as lead, but I don't dare set it down. My knuckles turn white, a stark contrast against the ink that winds up my arms—tales of triumphs and failures etched into my skin. Yet none tell the story of the man I am in this moment, desperate and determined.
I close my eyes for a second, feeling the beat thrum through me, a pulse in sync with my own erratic heart. There's sweat trickling down my forehead, mingling with the mist that clings to the air. It's fear. It's desire. It's the goddamn heat of needing her so much that every part of me is lit up and screaming for attention.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, wiping my brow with the back of my hand. The music swells, the chorus a haunting echo of my own thoughts. "Can't you see? You're everything I bleed for."
"Blaze?" Her voice cuts through the night, a thread of silk against the roughness of my despair. She's there, at the window, a vision bathed in the soft glow of her bedroom light.
"Nova." My throat tightens around her name, the syllables heavy with all the things I've left unsaid, with all the things I need to make right.
There's a pause, a breath held between us, and I can tell she's torn.
"Turn it off. Please," she begs softly, her voice a mixture of exasperation and something that sounds like pain.
"Can't do that, babe," I say, voice hoarse with emotion. "This song... it's the pulse of what I feel for you. Raw and relentless. Just like me."
"Blaze, this isn't healthy," she whispers, but her voice breaks, betraying the fortress she's trying to maintain around her heart.
"Maybe not," I concede, my gaze fixed on the shadow she casts behind the gauzy curtains. "But it's real. It's the only fucking thing I know for sure anymore."
"Blaze..." Her sigh is a surrender, a signal that my words are reaching her, that the melody is weaving its magic around us both.
