The path wound deeper into the park, away from the main trails and the occasional jogger, into groves where golden afternoon light filtered through the canopy like something from a painting.
The leaves above us were turning amber and crimson and burnished gold, and the world felt smaller here, quieter, as if we'd wandered into a pocket of reality that existed outside of time.
The conversation had shifted somewhere along the way. Loosened. Become more daring.
"My father calls it legacy," Jay said, his voice carrying the particular weight of words he'd held too long. "The Callahan name, the family reputation, the expectations that come attached to every dollar we've ever earned. He doesn't see me as a person—he sees me as an asset. A chess piece to be moved where it benefits the board."
"And the engagement is part of that?" I asked carefully.
"The engagement is the centerpiece." His jaw tightened. "Two families, merged fortunes, consolidated power. It was decided when we were children. I don't think anyone ever considered asking what I wanted."
I thought of my own father—the man who'd walked out when I was twelve, leaving nothing behind but a last name and a lifetime of questions. Different kind of cage, same result: a childhood shaped by someone else's choices.
"My father left," I heard myself say. "Just... disappeared one day. No warning, no explanation. My mother pretended it was fine, Nathan became the man of the house at fifteen, and I…"
I paused, searching for words that didn't sound pathetic. "I became invisible. It was easier than being seen and found wanting."
Jay stopped walking. When I turned, his expression had shifted into something raw, unguarded.
"You built yourself from that," he said quietly. "From the ruins of what he left behind. That's not invisible, Summer. That's survival."
The understanding in his voice cracked something open in my chest. Not pity—I couldn't have borne pity—but recognition. The acknowledgment of someone who understood what it meant to construct yourself from broken pieces.
We found a bench overlooking a small pond, the water still and reflective in the fading light.
The sun had begun its descent toward the treeline, painting everything in shades of amber and rose. We sat close enough that our shoulders touched, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body in the cooling air.
"I have a brother," Jay said, staring out at the water. "Theo. Younger. He's the reason I can't just walk away from all of this."
I waited, sensing there was more.
"He almost destroyed himself a few years ago." Jay's voice had gone rough. "I made a deal—my compliance for his protection. As long as I play the good son, marry who they tell me to marry, Theo gets a second chance. And if I break the engagement..."
"He loses everything," I finished quietly.
"He loses everything." Jay turned to face me, and the pain in his eyes was almost unbearable to witness. "So when I tell you it's complicated, when I say I can't just walk away—it's not because I don't want to, It's because my freedom would cost my brother his future. Maybe his life."
The weight of his confession settled over us both. I understood sacrifice—understood choosing someone else's wellbeing over your own desires. Nathan had done it for me, in his own suffocating way. Now Jay was doing it for Theo.
"That's not fair," I said. "None of it is fair."
"No." His smile was sad, crooked. "But it's the hand I was dealt. The only question is what I do with the cards I can actually play."
His gaze held mine, and the air between us thickened into something I could almost taste. The golden light caught the angles of his face, turned his eyes into something molten, and the confession he'd just made—the sacrifice, the brother, the cage he'd built around himself.
Made him more human than he'd ever been.
"Summer." The way he said my name was different now—lower, deliberate. "I need you to understand something."
"What?"
He shifted closer on the bench, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the cedar and something darker underneath. His hand rose slowly, giving me time to pull away, and his fingers traced along my jaw with a reverence that made my breath catch.
"I've wanted you since the moment you looked at me in that ER and told me some things never change."
His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, lingered there.
"And I've been going out of my mind trying to be patient, trying to give you space, trying not to push when you keep running. But right now, with you looking at me like that…"
"Like what?" My voice came out barely a whisper.
"Like you're wondering what would happen if you stopped running."
I should have pulled away, should have remembered all the reasons this was impossible.
"Let me show you," he said, voice dropping low enough to vibrate through my chest. "What it could be like. How I'd treat you if you were mine."
I stopped thinking.
His mouth found mine, and the first touch was gentle—questioning, careful, giving me every chance to retreat. When I didn't, when my lips parted beneath his and my hand fisted in the front of his jacket, something broke loose in him.
He kissed me like he was starving for it.
His hands framed my face, angling me exactly where he wanted me, and his tongue swept against mine with an urgency that sent heat pooling low in my belly.
I gasped into his mouth and felt him swallow the sound, felt his groan answer mine as his fingers slid into my hair and pulled.
The slight sting at my scalp made me arch into him. He took immediate advantage, his mouth trailing hot and open down my jaw, finding the pulse hammering in my throat and sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
"Jay…" His name came out broken, desperate.
"I know." He didn't stop. His teeth grazed the sensitive spot below my ear, and my hips jerked involuntarily. "God, the sounds you make..."
His hands explored with deliberate intent now—no longer tentative, no longer asking permission.
They mapped the curve of my waist, slid beneath the hem of my sweater to find bare skin. His palms were rough, calloused, hot against my ribs, and when his thumbs brushed the undersides of my breasts through my bra, I made a sound I didn't recognize.
"That's it." His voice had gone ragged, his breath coming fast against my neck. "Let me hear you."
He pulled me onto his lap in one fluid motion, and suddenly I was straddling him on the bench, my knees bracketing his hips, his hands gripping my thighs hard enough to bruise.
The new position pressed me against the unmistakable evidence of his arousal, and we both groaned at the contact.
"Feel what you do to me?" He rolled his hips up, just slightly, and sparks shot up my spine. "This is what it's been like. Every time you walk into a room, every time you look at me with those eyes. This."
I kissed him to stop myself from saying something reckless. His mouth opened under mine, hungry and claiming, and his hands slid up my back beneath my sweater, unhooking my bra with practiced ease before I could register what he was doing.
When his palms finally cupped my bare breasts, thumbs circling my nipples, I broke the kiss to gasp for air. He watched my face with dark, intent eyes as he rolled the sensitive peaks between his fingers.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "So fucking beautiful."
He kissed down my throat, my collarbone, nuzzling aside the neckline of my sweater to press his mouth to the swell of my breast. When his lips closed around my nipple through the thin fabric, my head fell back and my fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
"We should stop." The words came out unconvincing, contradicted immediately by the way I pressed closer. "We're in public."
"I know." But his hands kept moving, one sliding down to grip my hip and guide me into a slow roll against him. "Tell me to stop and I will. Say the word."
I couldn't say it, couldn't make my mouth form anything except his name as he found a rhythm that had me trembling in his lap, fully clothed but more desperate than I'd ever been in any bedroom.
He treated me like I was precious and wanted in equal measure. Like being with me was the only thing in the world that mattered. Like he'd wait forever for this, but now that he had it, he intended to savor every second.
When we finally pulled apart—both breathing hard, both aching with unfulfilled want, Jay rested his forehead against mine. His thumb traced my swollen lower lip, and the tenderness of the gesture after the intensity made my eyes sting.
"Stay," he whispered. "Just a little longer. Please."
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