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Didn’t I?

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “I had to.”

The words came out low, rough, honest.

She didn’t move. Neither did I. The air between us crackled with something hot and unspoken—something that had been building for weeks, months, maybe even longer.

Her fingers brushed against mine—just barely—but it sent a shockwave through my body, setting my blood on fire.

That touch, so simple and small, unraveled me completely.

Iris Evans had buried herself under my skin, and there was no ripping her out.

Not now.

Not ever.

Iris moved toward the kitchen, the soft glow from the overhead lamp casting long shadows as she disappeared into my space—our space. I watched her every step, every shift of her body, unable to tear my eyes away as she pulled open a drawer, rummaging through its contents like she had always belonged here.

When she returned, she knelt in front of me, a damp cloth in her hands, her focus locked on my bruised knuckles. The way she looked at them—like they were something fragile, something worth caring for—sent a sharp, unexpected rush through me.

Her touch was light but deliberate, the cool pressure of the cloth against my raw skin making me hiss through my teeth. But I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t.

“You shouldn’t have to do that,” she murmured again, voice steady despite the weight between us.

I exhaled hard, fighting against the storm inside me, the one that had been raging ever since I saw her standing on my doorstep, wrecked in the rain. She still didn’t get it.

“I did.” The words came rough, stripped bare.

Her eyes flickered toward the old USA jersey slung over the chair. I hated that thing. It was a relic of a past I’d rather forget, a symbol of what I’d lost, what I’d ruined. But right now? Right now, with her kneeling here, her hands on me, it almost felt like something worth wanting again.

She kept working—slow, methodical, her breath warm against my skin. The intimacy of it hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Not just the softness of her touch, but the fact that she was here, taking care of me when all I knew how to do was destroy.

“Knox…” Her voice trailed off, hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she should say my name at all.

I leaned forward. Just enough. Enough to feel her breath hitch, enough to make the tension coil tighter, pulling us toward something inevitable.

She lifted her gaze, and in that moment, I saw it. The fire. The fight. The same wild pull that had been threatening to consume us since the beginning.

And right then?

Nothing else mattered.

Just her. Just us.

Chapter 29

Iris

Isettled onto the edge of the couch, pulling his hoodie tighter around my shoulders. The fabric was soft and smelled like him—like sweat and something distinctly Knox. My knees tucked up against my chest, and I hugged them, trying to contain the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind.

He sat across from me, shirtless, bandaged hands resting on his thighs. His eyes were locked on me, but they weren’t filled with the usual intensity. Instead, there was a softness that sent warmth spiraling through my chest.

We didn’t speak, and somehow that silence felt charged. It hummed between us, rich with unspoken truths and a tentative understanding that something had shifted tonight. I could see it in the way he leaned back slightly, as if he was allowing himself to need me just as much as I needed him.

Rain dripped off my hair onto my cheeks, cool against the warmth radiating from his presence. I wanted to reach out—to bridge the gap between us—but fear tethered my hands down at my sides. What if this moment fell apart like everything else? What if we couldn’t navigate this new territory together?

“Are you okay?” Knox finally broke the silence, his voice low and gravelly.