Riley
“So you’re just going to leave?” Lucas asked.
His voice was low. Not angry. Just quiet enough that I had to stop what I was doing and look at him.
He wasn’t blinking. Just standing there, like he needed something from me I wasn’t sure I could give.
I crossed my arms. “I haven’t decided.”
He tilted his head, waiting. I could already feel it coming—the part where I had to explain myself.
“But it’s not about you,” I added.
A bitter smile crept in, barely there. “It’s always about me. Somehow. And somehow not. That’s the problem, right?”
I swallowed. The back of my throat burned. I hated that he was this calm, this... aware.
“I can’t keep doing this,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
“You think I’m playing games?” he asked. “You think I don’t mean it when I say I want you here?”
“You want me when it’s convenient. When you’re injured. When you’re bored.” My voice cracked. “But not when it matters.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No,” I said, stepping back. “It’s not. None of this is fair.”
He moved toward me, not fast, but close enough that I could feel the heat of him. The smell of sweat and soap clung to his skin. He was breathing harder than the rehab justified.
“Then tell me to stop,” he said.
My chest tightened. “Lucas—”
“No.” He shook his head, voice firmer now. “You’re the one who keeps pulling away. But you’re here. You always come back.”
I looked down at the floor between us. “I shouldn’t want this.”
He didn’t touch me. He didn’t have to.
“You do.”
I didn’t say anything.
He took another step. His hand brushed mine—just lightly—but it was enough. My breath hitched. I hated how my body reacted like it had no idea what my brain was screaming.
“You hate me for making this hard,” he said. “But don’t act like it’s one-sided.”
“You don’t get to do that.
“You don’t get to do that.” My voice cracked. “You don’t get to act like we’re something after you broke me.”
His mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but I couldn’t stand there another second.
I turned and walked out—fast, before I changed my mind, before I said something I’d regret, before I let him reach for me again.
I didn’t stop in the hallway. I didn’t breathe until I hit the stairwell. My hand shook as I grabbed the railing. My chest was tight, my throat burning. Every step down felt like a fight against myself.
I wanted to go back.
I wanted him to follow me.
I wanted none of this to be real.
***
Later that evening, Zara showed up in my room with a box of food and a worried look.
“You’re running, Riles,” she said, handing me a coffee. “You’re not just walking away from a job. You’re sprinting from a man who actually sees you.”
I stared at her, the truth sinking in deeper than I wanted.
Lucas had changed. He was less arrogant now, more present—like the man I thought I knew. And me? I was still holding on to walls I’d built for years.
“I’ve built my whole career on never needing anyone,” I admitted, voice cracking. “I don’t know how to change that. And the fact that he just left? I’m still holding that grudge.”
Then, my phone buzzed.
I glanced down. Javier.
My stomach tightened. I didn’t want to open it, but my thumb moved anyway.
A screenshot filled the screen—two text bubbles in a thread. Lucas’s name at the top.
“She’s the only one I trust with this.”
“It’s not that bad, but I need more time. Just say it’s serious. She won’t push me if she thinks it’s bad.”
I stared at the messages, the words sinking in one by one. My breath caught.
Below the image, Javier had typed just one line:
And this is who you’re defending?