The silence between us stretched the entire ride.
Anthony hadn't said a word since we stepped into the car. I didn't ask him to. I just stared out the window, watching the city blur past behind tinted glass—pretending the weight in my chest wasn't growing heavier by the second.
I told myself I was fine. That it didn't matter.
But it did.
His words still echoed inside me—sharp enough to ache.
"Don't."
As if the idea of love itself was too vile to touch.
"It's not true."
Then what was last night?
What were the kisses, the whispers… the way he touched me, lit every part of me on fire? The way he held me afterward—so tight, like he never wanted to let go?
I turned away from him, pressing my fingers to the window, feeling the cool glass bite into my skin. Outside, the early afternoon sun burned bright over Atlanta, but I couldn't feel its warmth.
"You don't have to come in," Anthony said suddenly.
His voice was low. Controlled. Always so damned composed.
