So what the fuck was the point?
“Landon…” My voice cracks.
He lifts his head, his eyes on me already.
“I was going to fucking ruin her.”
It comes out hoarse. Heavy. Like a confession and a curse.
His brow furrows, his whole body stilling. But he doesn’t pull away.
I almost want him to.
I almost want to see disgust on his face. Something that matches the rot in my chest.
But instead, he just breathes in through his nose, jaw clenched like he’s biting back the pain for both of us.
“You didn’t ruin her,” he says eventually. “You didn’t finish the job.”
“No,” I whisper, eyes burning again. “But I started it. What can I say now? How can I look her in the eye now?”
Landon doesn’t speak for a moment, but I can feel him staring at me—like he’s trying to memorize this version of me too: curled up, hollowed out, barely holding shape. I wait for judgment. For distance. But what I get is warmth. Steady, pulsing warmth from the hand still resting on my thigh and the body curled just inches from mine like he’s trying to shoulder the weight of what I can’t say.
He leans forward, pressing his forehead lightly against mine, and when he speaks, his voice is low and raw—something torn from deep inside his chest.
“You don’t get to drown here, Jasmine.”
His words land heavy, but he doesn’t stop. He pulls back just enough for me to see his face, and there’s nothing soft left in him. Just fire and grief.
“I let you have the day. I didn’t touch you, I didn’t push, I didn’t even try to drag you out of bed. I gave you silence, and space, and all the time you needed to fall apart.” His jaw flexes. His eyes burn. “But that ends now.”
I blink, barely breathing.
“Because I know what it’s like,” he says, voice thickening. “To feel like you didn’t do enough. Like if you’d been faster, or smarter, or more ruthless, maybe they wouldn’t be dead. I’ve had that guilt in my fucking bones since I was seventeen.” He exhales hard through his nose, and when he speaks again, it’s quieter. But it cuts deeper. “They killed my sister, Jasmine.”
That stops my heart, and I look at him again as the salt builds in the back of my throat. “What?”
“Kelly,” he says, voice like gravel. “They killed her. She was in love with Marcus, and strung out on drugs, and they…when she was too much for them to control, Marucs had her killed.” He swallows, hard. “And when I tried to leave they beat me halfway to death.”
Silence hums around us like static. He’s not crying. But I can see the weight of it—the grief pressed so deep it’s just become part of him. It makes me want to wrap myself around him, drag him into the dark spiral of my grief. Make him cry with me, but the look in his eyes tells me that the time to cry is over for him, and for me.
“So no,” he continues. His voice is a low gravel that makes me instinctively want to run and hide. “I’m not going to let you sit here and rot in the wreckage. I’m not going to let you give them one more fucking piece of yourself.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
“You didenough,” he says, cutting through the air between us. “You did more than anyone should’ve asked of you. You lied, and you kissed someone you were falling for, and you walked straight into the lion’s den for a man you loved. That isnotfailure.” He moves closer, brushing his knuckles down the side of my face with a tenderness that makes my chest twist. “They don’t get your tears, Peach. They’re not worth them.”
He pulls back, just enough to stand. Just enough to tower over me in the low light of the room, broad and unyielding, anger rolling off him in steady waves.
“You’re going to get in the bath,” he says again, firmer now. “You’re going to wash off this day. You’re going to eat. And then you’re going to skip the part of grief where you cry on the floorand jump straight to the part where youcut their throats with your fucking teeth.” I stare at him, chest heaving, throat full of fire and I am enthralled with how much he makes me want to burn myself alive.
“Because they took Tommy. They took someone youlove.And now?” He leans down, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Now, baby, we make them pay.”
I stare at him, chest heaving, throat full of fire, and for a second—just a second—I can’t tell if I want to cry or scream or throw myself into him like he’s the last solid thing left in the world.
“I can’t,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Landon… I don’t have anything left. I don’t even know where to start.”
His eyes soften—not weak, never weak—but with that kind of depth that makes you feel like you’re beingseen,completely and without judgment.
