"Yes and no, but the other day, you said something—something I've contemplated myself over the years—but seeing you again puts it in my lap. It can't be ignored. I didn't give you the choice back then, and I should have."
"This choice…" Her eyes focus on the floor. "This truth you've kept close, why give it to me now?"
"Aside from the fact that you deserve it? I don't think I'll survive losing you twice."
Her rich brown eyes snap up to mine, piercing through years of distance. For a breath-stealing moment, they search mine with the same intensity they once held, as if she's rediscovering something she believed was long gone. I stand perfectly still, afraid to move and shatter the connection where she seems to see what she used to: home. Despite the new town, the new name, and the painful years that have passed between us, my heart has never changed ownership. It never stopped beating for her.
In my raw, exposed gaze, recognition flickers across her face, and for better or worse, a spark ignites behind her knowing stare. It's one I've dreamed of countless nights, one where she sees my sacrifice and my mistakes and loves me anyway. But then her expression hardens, and her vulnerability is replaced with resolve.
"You don't have me," she says, her voice steady, gentle but harsh, as reality crashes into me, the weight of her words stealing the breath from my lungs, threatening to take me down.
I moisten my lips, her taste still lingering, reminding me of all the things I want most in this world, and I'm about to start with an apology and a question when Sydney rounds the corner, her heel catching on the uneven floorboard with a scrape.
"You and I"—she jabs a manicured finger into the space between us—"have a problem."
Her usually immaculate hair has escaped its pins in places, and there's a dangerous glint in her eyes. Damn it. My hands fall to my hips, and I pull in a deep breath to settle the anger that starts to burn hot. Fisher told her what I gave him in confidence. I can't say he told her everything, but she knows something. I've always been able to trust Fisher with my secrets. I should have known better with this one.
Laney shifts, putting distance between us. "He's all yours. He said all he wanted to." Her eyes hold mine, disappointment dimming their honeyed hues, and I clench my fists. She knows damn well that's not true. I know she feels everything I do. "Next round is on me. Don't keep me waiting," she says to Sydney. Thenshe's gone, weaving through the Friday-night crowd with deliberate steps to put space between us.
I cross my arms as the weight of my obligation settles on my shoulders under Sydney's watchful gaze as I wait for her to say something. There's a small chance that I got it wrong, and her brother—my best friend — didn't reveal the secret I've been holding onto for the past six years. Regardless, I deserve whatever lashing she wants to give me.
"I'm not going to waste time telling you what you already know. You fucked up. I'm not here to threaten you. You still look at her the same way you did the first time you brought her to my house when you were eleven years old, so I know…" her voice cracks with conviction, the weight of knowing my reason warring with the pain she knows I've carried every day. "I know it's tearing you up inside to live a life without her." She looks up and blinks rapidly to keep her tears from falling.
"Sydney—" I reach for her arm.
"No, I'm not finished. I love you, London Hale. You know you're family to me. We've known each other since we could walk, but I came over here to tell you if you think I'm not going to be pressure...you're wrong. You're on a clock. There's no outrunning it this time."
I nod in agreement before pulling her in for a hug. "I know, Syd."
I hold her tight and let my lungs fill with a breath of resolve. I knew from the second I saw her standing next to Trigg at the auction that I'd be laying my secrets at her feet. I've only been lying to myself, believing any of this could have any other ending.
This night has somehow stretchedinto eternity, one that's had me physically ill and mentally disturbed all at once. Noah has been MIA for most of it, thank fuck, and Trigg has backed off, choosing to watch the girls dance the night away from the end ofthe bar rather than their heels, but it's the watching that has me on edge.
My jaw has been set all night, my nerves on a slow simmer. When she first arrived and laid eyes on me, her dancing was slow and deliberate. She knew I was watching, and I know she liked it. However, after our kiss and the conversation that ended before I could say anything meaningful, she hasn't looked my way once.
Another man, the third one tonight, leans in, his hand fitting in the small of her back, splayed possessively as he pulls her in. It's nothing I haven't seen. I've watched her entertain a dance and push them away, choosing to let loose with Sydney and Asha. It's the smile on her face that has kept me behind the bar. I want to see her happy. But this guy isn't like the rest. He's either had one too many before he got here, or he thinks he can take what he wants without asking for it. Neither works for me.
Laney tries to push him back, her shoulders tense as her hands press against his chest, but he doesn't budge. Instead, his eyes narrow with a predatory focus as he tries again, this time pulling her into him with enough force that she stumbles against him. Her expression flashes from annoyance to alarm, and I see red.
The bourbon I was pouring floods over the rim, amber liquid cascading across the polished bar top, the bottle crashing to the floor as I vault over the bar in one fluid motion, my body moving on pure instinct as I hurriedly make my way across the bar. I catch him by surprise, one hand gripping his shoulder while extracting her in one swift movement, positioning her behind me before shoving him back hard enough that he staggers.
"What the hell?" he stammers, equal parts shock and fury flashing across his face.
"Take a hint," I growl, trying to keep my voice steady and not make any more of a scene than I already have. "She doesn't want to dance with you." I clench my fists at my sides hard enough that my fingernails bite into my palms.
His eyes flick from me to her, jaw tightening. He's too drunk, too proud to back down. "Are you with him?" he dares to ask her,dismissing me as if I'm not standing inches from him, ready to swing.
She steps beside me. "No," she says, her voice sharp and precise. "He's just the man picking up my tab tonight."
The words land like a slap, but I don't flinch. His clown friends mutter a few choice heckles, but I let them roll off me. My attention is already shifting because, by the time my eyes swing back to hers, she's pushing through the crowd, heading for the exit. I stand rooted, collecting a second to rein in my anger as I watch her retreat. Then, ignoring the assholes behind me, I follow.
The night air hits us both as the door swings shut, sealing off the thrum of the music inside. She's halfway across the parking lot, boots angrily crunching against the gravel, when it happens. The ankle she injured before gives out on the uneven gravel, and she falls forward, but I'm there before she can make it to the ground. My arms circle her waist, pulling her back against my chest before steadying her. For a moment, we freeze like that, her back pressed to my front. I can feel her heart racing, or maybe it's mine, the events of tonight leaving us both reeling as we try to navigate this new territory.
"You okay?" I murmur, not letting go.
She nods, but when she tries to put weight on her foot, she winces. Without hesitation, I sweep one arm beneath her knees and lift her into my arms. "What are you doing?" she asks, but her arms instinctively loop around my neck.
"Taking care of you," I answer simply. Her eyes search mine in the dim glow of the parking lot lights. This close, I can see the flecks of gold in her irises. Her lips part slightly, and for a moment, I think she might argue and demand I put her down. Instead, she relaxes into my hold, her body softening against mine. "Where's your car?"
