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When he pulls back, there’s a vulnerability in his gaze that wasn’t there before. I can tell he’s fighting against the pain, the uncertainty of what happens next. “You’re worth it,” he says, barely more than a whisper.

Relief floods through me, and I kiss him again, softer this time, feeling the warmth of his breath, the cold raindrops mingling with the heat between us.

It’s like finding a heartbeat in the chaos, something steady to hold onto when everything else spins out of control.

“Briar,” he murmurs against my lips. “The two of us seem right. But… The three of us are so fucked up.”

I draw back and nod, still catching my breath. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“He and I…”

I nod, also understanding.

“Fucked up or not, there is no two in our three.”

Silence. Long torturous silence as we both process my words.

He runs a hand through his hair, but there’s a small, almost hopeful smile on his face. “I haven’t seen you in days. I thought maybe… I thought after… you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I couldn’t get you out of my head,” I confess. “Not you. Not Flint. You… you both said some things.”

His expression darkens. “Flint,” he mutters, a shadow passing over his face. “I don’t know if that will ever be… I mean, Briar—it’s always been toxic with him and me. It’s like the more we try to get out, the deeper we go.”

The rain falls harder now, soaking through my sweater, but I don’t care. “I’m not trying to change what you have. I just need to know it doesn’t destroy us.”

His silence is long, and I feel the weight of it.

“I want you,” he says, and he finds my mouth with his again, like he’s trying to swallow everything else.

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me in tighter, as if he can’t stand the space between us, not knowing when one of us might run or break or leave. I kiss him back, feeling the urgency in the way he holds me, the urgency in me. It’s like I can’t get close enough, like no matter how hard I try, there is always too much distance.

“Come with me,” he breathes against my lips.

“Where?” The word is barely out of my mouth before I realize I don’t care. I’d follow him anywhere.

Chapter 22

Damiano

“Let’s take my car,” I say, grabbing her hand. The weight of her palm against mine feels right, even though it probably shouldn’t.

The rain slicks her hair to her face, and her eyes search mine, like she’s looking for something I don’t have the answers to. All I know is I can’t stay here, caught between the ghost in the maze and whatever mess Flint and I have made.

We need neutral ground.

Or maybe ground zero.

We walk in silence, away from the fancy gardens and the weight of Windward Estates. The air smells like salt and rain, the sky changing from dark purple to a pale, suffocating grey. Dawn is awakening over Heathens Hollow, but it feels less like a new beginning and more like everyone’s holding their breath, waiting for something to break.

I lead her to the old Range Rover parked down aback road, hidden from the main drive. Inside, it smells like mildew and like no one’s cared about it in years.

Like me.

Like Flint.

Like everything we touch.

As I pull away from the curb, heading toward the coast road, I grab my phone. I hover over Flint’s contact. This is impulsive. Probably stupid. But burying things hasn’t worked. Running hasn’t worked. Fighting hasn’t worked. Maybe facing it, all of it, is the only way through.