Page 77 of After All This Time

As soon as I'm in the bathroom, the door locked and Tobias safely on the other side, I let out a breath. My chest tightens, and I grip the counter for a moment, grounding myself before turning the shower knob. The squeak echoes through the small space, and when the water hits me, it's a cold slap in the face—exactly what I need. Semi-cold. Not ice-cold—I'm not amasochist—but just enough to tell my hormones to simmer the fuck down.

I press my forehead against the tile, letting the water run down my back. Tobias isn't just under my skin—he's practically carved his name into my bones like some kind of territorial asshole.

Eventually, I shut the water off and wrap myself in the first towel I can find, a black one that barely covers anything. My damp hair drips against my shoulders as I step out into the room, but Tobias is nowhere to be seen. The bed is a mess, and his phone lies abandoned on the nightstand, but the faint trace of cigarette smoke hovering in the air tells me he hasn't gone far. I walk to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to catch a glimpse of him outside.

There he is, cigarette in hand, and his head tipped back as if he's waiting for the sky to solve all his problems. It's only when he exhales, leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed, that I realize he's stressed, or frustrated—or both.

When he finally walks back inside, he stops dead in his tracks when he sees me, his gaze glued to the towel clinging to my body. His jaw clenches, and I watch as his hand drags across his face, a telltale sign that he's doing everything he can to keep himself in check.

Yeah, he's definitely frustrated.

"I won't be long, and then we can go, okay?" Tobias mutters, but he won't look at me. His eyes are everywhere but on me—sliding across the room, the floor, the fucking wall—anywhere that isn't me.

"Yeah, I'll wait for you in the car." There's no way in hell I'm sticking around to witness him stepping out of that bathroom dripping wet, water sliding over his inked skin and tempting the living shit out of me.

Fifteen minutes later, the passenger door swings open, and Tobias slides in next to me.

"Ready?" I ask, my voice a little too upbeat, masking the mess inside my mind that caffeine isn't helping one bit.

"You've had coffee, haven't you?" he asks, side-eyeing me like he already knows the answer. "Please tell me you got me one."

I laugh, reaching behind to grab the cup I picked up for him. "Would I really let you suffer like that?" I tease, handing it over.

He lights up like a kid on Christmas, bringing the cup to his nose and inhaling like it's crack.

"I love you," he says, aiming his words at the coffee. I watch him take a sip, and he immediately grimaces.

"Tastes like ass, right?"

"You could've warned me."

"And miss that look on your face? Never happening," I say, grinning as I pull onto the road.

He shakes his head and takes another sip, visibly bracing himself. "Fuck it, I'm not here for the taste."

I can't help but laugh, and with a shake of my head, I refocus on the road, steering us straight toward the house of horrors.

There's something about sitting here with him that feels right. Even with all this complicated shit between us, even when nothing makes sense—this does. He's the chaos I can't help but crave and the calm I've always needed. Even when he's the one setting my world on fire, he's also the only place I'm willing to burn.

I glance over at Tobias, who's leaning back in the passenger seat, sipping that trash coffee like it's the only thing keeping him alive. His free hand taps absently against his thigh in time with the music, and I let myself sink into the moment. We're still us. Messy, complicated, and probably a little fucked-up, but still us.

"So, you excited to see Daddy?"

Tobias turns his head so fast I'm surprised he doesn't pull a muscle. "I swear I'll walk the rest of the way if you ever call himthat again," he growls, but the corner of his mouth twitches—betraying just a hint of amusement he doesn't want me to see.

"I know he's an ass, but I want to believe he cares about you in his own twisted way."

"He doesn't," he says, his laughter bitter and short, like it burns as it leaves his lips. "He cares about money, his business, and making sure I stay in line."

"Well, he knows you're not taking over, right?"

"Oh, he knows," Tobias says with a shrug, "but it doesn't stop him from trying to guilt me or remind me about how much of a colossal disappointment I am."

"You know he's wrong, don't you?"

"Do I?" he says, flashing me that half smile I know is meant to shut me up. It's the kind of smile he uses when he wants to dodge the conversation entirely. But screw that—I'm pushing.

"You're living your life, doing what you want, and to hell with everyone else," I say, leaning into the argument. "If more people did that, they'd probably be a lot happier. Yeah, we're privileged—god, I hate saying that—but we are. And you've got the chance to live your life your way."

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