Page 68 of The Last Call Home
Like an idiot.
What am I even doing?
A woman with half a spine would’ve stayed.Would’ve dragged them both to the fireplace, poured three more drinks, looked them dead in the eye and said,Let’s air it all out.Right now.No more hiding.Let’s get fucking honest.
But me?
I bolted.
Not because I didn’t want to be there.
But because I did.
Because the moment Malerick looked at me like he was half-starved and scared to want more—and Cassian brushed his fingers against mine like he was asking permission to stay—I knew I was in trouble.
The sort of trouble where the future stops feeling hypothetical and starts pressing against your ribs, begging to be held with hands that have only ever known how to let go.
I turn onto the road that leads back into town, the cabin behind me slipping away into the dark.Like it was never real to begin with.Just some whispered fairy tale carved into the woods—with whiskey breath and a warm stove and two men who used to be broken in different ways and now look like they might be brave enough to put each other back together.
I want to be part of that.
I want to be brave enough to want it all.
Them.
Us.
But bravery has a price.
Mine ran out the second I realized this wasn’t just some fling.This isn’t anOops, I accidentally slept with the broody town sheriff and the ex-FBI heartthrob who owns the barkind of story.This is deeper.Something that feels like ...maybe even home.Forever.
And I’ve never been good at forever.
ChapterTwenty-Three
Cassian
At almost fourin the morning, I finally pull into the lot behind The Honey Drop.The engine ticks like it’s just as tired as I am.I should’ve stayed the night.God knows I wanted to.
But Delilah has the shop to open, and I’ve developed this habit—okay, compulsion—of making sure she gets inside safely.Every morning, before I even think about sleep, I come here.Sometimes it’s just to see her car parked where it always is.Other times, it’s to catch a glimpse of her unlocking the front door, her hair pulled back, her shoulders already carrying more than they should.
This morning?
I want more than a glimpse.
Malerick left, too.Didn’t even argue about it.Just said he’d see me soon and disappeared like it wasn’t killing him to do it.He could’ve stayed too.But Mal didn’t see the point of doing so.So he went back to his tiny apartment instead.
I still don’t understand.Why the hell would a man maintain a place that big, that remote, only to live somewhere else entirely?That’s not merely a preference.There’s a story behind it.Hopefully, I’ll earn the right to hear all about it soon.
But I can’t focus on that now.When we’re not wrecked from what just happened, from everything that has passed between us without a single goddamn lie.
Because we didn’t just fuck.
We shattered something.Or perhaps we cracked it open—finally, painfully, beautifully.
His mouth on mine—desperate, certain—wasn’t a question.It was a promise.One I didn’t realize I’d been craving since the day we burned it all down.
His hands slid over my chest, down my sides, rough palms against muscle, grounding me with each touch.He knew where to press.Where to pause.Where to dig in like he couldn’t decide whether to hold me together or tear me open.
