Page 32 of Dash

“Babe, you didn’t send me that message to give me my fucking hoodie.”

Her cheeks flush just a fraction, just enough to let me know I’m right. I don’t know what made her send it, but I want to find out.

“Well, I did intend to give it back, but it’s warm and cosy. And they don’t make women’s clothes like that. I mean, you can have it back if you want it, obviously—it’s yours—but…” She trails off.

“Dayna.” I say her name low, barely a caress of breath.

She sighs. “I wanted to apologise. I was so horrible to you last night, and you were just taking care of me.”

Fuck, that claws into my chest in a way it shouldn’t. “It wasn’t a favour, Dayna, and you weren’t horrible.”

“Right.” She winces. “Except I kind of was. I just… I don’t want you to hate me.”

The way she shrinks into herself is worse than any injury I’ve ever sustained. Every time I’ve met Dayna, she’s been bold, vibrant, confident, but seeing her vulnerable, broken down, and uncertain is far more real than any side of her I’ve ever seen.

The words hang between us, and she shifts awkwardly, as if she wants to disappear into the walls.

Fuck that. And fuck this.

I cross the room until I’m right in front of her. She swallows as if there’s a lump in her throat. As if she’s trying to choke down her feelings.

“I don’t hate you,” I say. How the fuck could she think that?

“You should,” she whispers.

Ivy’s warning comes back to haunt me, and I let myself see her. Really see her. Not the front she gives to the world. Not the sharp words she thinks protect her.

Just Dayna.

And it fucking gores me. The hope in her eyes. The relief that I came. The fear that I might actually hate her.

It burns through me. Who the fuck made her think she was nothing?

I need to touch her, to feel her warmth, so I trail my knuckles over her cheek, watching her breath hitch.

I want to kiss her desperately. Every part of me aches to, but she has that deer-in-headlights look. “I could never hate you.”

“You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

“I don’t need to. I see you.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. I realise that the moment the words leave my fucking mouth.

She blinks once, twice, and then steps back. I lose the softness of her skin as she ducks around me.

My hoodie is thrust into my chest. “There you go. I wasn’t sure whether you got it at some sort of special bike shop. Or if you needed it… um… but thank you for letting me borrow it.”

Her arms wrap around her belly, as if trying to shield from an attack only she can see coming. I open the hoodie up, staring at the material.

Then I pull it over her head and settle it back into place. She’s frowning.

“What are you doing?”

“It looks better on you.”

I swear she’s not breathing when she peers up at me.

“Oh. I mean… right. You know you’re not getting this back now. I tried to return it, but now, it’s mine.”

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