Page 15 of Burned in Stone
What he doesn’t understand—what I can’t tell him—is that I already tried to bloom. I left. I ran. I built this new life. And Gabriel’s been cutting me back ever since. Every unknown call. Every lawyer letter. Every reminder that I’m not free to grow, not free to have this, not free to be anything other than his.
But God, I want to bloom anyway. Even if it’s just for tonight. Even if Gabriel burns it all down tomorrow.
I lift my eyes to his. His expression softens from predatory to something fiercely protective.
“There you are,” he whispers, his thumb gently wiping away the single tear that betrays me, the one that slides down my cheek carrying the weight of all the years I was told I was too much and not enough all at once. He leans in, his mouth hovering just over mine, and I close my eyes—ready to surrender, ready to bloom—even if it’s the last time. Even if this is all I ever get to have.
Then a sharp buzz rattles against the counter, shattering the moment. I jerk back, heart in my throat, and grab my phone before Cash can see the screen.
Unknown Number.
My blood goes cold. The room tilts. One second. One fucking second more and my lips would have been on his.
“You know what? I... um... need to finish up here.” I step out of Cash’s reach, shoving the phone into my pocket, my hands trembling.
Cash studies me, those too-knowing eyes taking in every tell. “What just happened?”
“Nothing. It’s late. We should both get home.”
“Mercy—”
“Please.” The word comes out desperate. “Just... I need to finish cleaning. Alone.”
He straightens slowly, movements careful, like I’m a spooked animal. Which isn’t far from the truth.
“OK,” he says finally. “But this conversation still isn’t over.”
“It is for tonight.”
He moves past me toward the door, stopping to press a kiss to my forehead. It’s tender and protective—so gentle it hurts. The kind of gesture that feels like safety, even as I remind myself it isn’t mine to keep.
“Lock up tight,” he says. “After all the shit Summit’s been pulling, we can’t be too careful.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. He gives me one last long look before leaving, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
I sink onto a barstool, pulling out my phone with trembling fingers. Three missed calls now, no voicemails. But I know who it is.
He’s watching.
The thought sends ice through my veins, but it isn’t surprise—it’s confirmation. This is Gabriel’s pattern. He waits until you feel safe, until hope crawls back in. Then he reminds you: you’re not free.
Twelve months in Stoneheart. Twelve months building something that felt like mine. And I’d started to believe it might last.
But tonight I almost gave him ammunition. Thank God I didn’t cross that line. If he already knows about Cash—and he must, to be escalating—at least I can honestly say nothing happened. Cash is just the club’s treasurer who helps close the bar. Not my lover. Not something Gabriel can weaponize.
My phone buzzes again, and I about jump out of my skin.
Cash:
I know something is up. Call me if you need me.
The simple message holds so much weight. I stare at the screen, fighting an overwhelming urge to do just that. To spill everything, to let him in.
But letting him in means crossing lines I’m not ready to cross. Lines I swore I’d guard fiercely after everything. So I type out a quick response, knowing he’ll come waltzing back in here if I don’t at least ease his concern.
Me:
I’m OK. Just heading out now.
