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“You quit?” The accusation comes out sharp.

She whirls around, finally showing some emotion. “You threatened my boss!”

“Oh my god. It’s not a big fucking deal.”

“Not a big deal?” She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Wow.”

The disbelief in her voice makes something ugly twist in my chest. “You’re being dramatic. I was protecting you.”

“Protecting me?” Her laugh is bitter. “You destroyed my career to protect me?”

“I fixed it! She walked away! I didn’t destroy shit!”

“She walked away to report you to HR! I had to quit to avoid being fired!”

Hearing the desperation and fury in her voice makes this real in a way that devastates me.

“You’ll find something else,” I say, not knowing what else to say.

“Will I?” She sets the water bottle down hard enough that it sloshes. “Because I had an apartment viewing today that I can’t afford anymore. I applied to jobs that probably won’t call back because I left my last position with no notice. I might have to move again, Slater.”

“No.” The word comes out sharp, final. “You’re not moving anywhere.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps.

“You heard me. You’re not leaving.”

She stares at me like I’ve completely lost my mind. “Why the fuck do you even care?” she seethes, throwing her hands in the air.

I can’t answer that question. Can’t explain the way my chest tightens at the thought of her leaving, the way this house already feels empty when she’s not in it. Can’t put into words the desperate need I have to keep her close.

That’s when she steps closer, her eyes narrowing. “Are you drunk?”

The smell of alcohol on my breath probably gives me away before I can lie. “So, what if I am?”

“So what?” Her voice rises. “You’re drunk and you think you can tell me what to do with my life?”

“I’m not—”

“Are you fucking high too?”

I reach for her arm, needing to touch her, to make her understand. “Sage, listen to me—”

She jerks away from me. “Don’t. Don’t touch me when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” The anger flares hot and immediate. “Like what, Sage?”

“Out of control, Slater!” Her voice rises, then drops to something more on edge.

“You already know what real pain is like. Losing a brother... I can’t even fathom it, but this.

..” She gestures between us with shaking hands.

“This thing between you and me is nothing compared to that loss, so don’t revert to old habits.

Like are you fucking kidding me, Slater? How many pills did you take?”

The mention of Archer hits like a gut punch, sobering me for a split second before the rage takes over completely. “I didn’t take pills.”

“Great. Just fucking great,” she says, turning to walk away.

“Where the fuck are you going? We’re in the middle of talking.”

She whirls back around, her eyes blazing. “You’re fucking lying to me! And if you’re going to lie to me, I’m not talking to you!”

The accusation stings because it’s true. Because even now, even when everything is falling apart, I can’t stop trying to control the narrative. “I took two. Two oxy’s.”

She looks like I’ve slapped her, her face going pale before flushing with anger. “Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?” Her voice is livid now, shaking with fury. “Because you couldn’t handle me ignoring you? Because your feelings got hurt?”

I’m silent, trying to piece together words that make sense, trying to explain something I don’t even understand myself.

How do I tell her that watching her walk past me like I don’t exist makes me want to tear my own skin off?

How do I explain that the thought of her leaving makes me feel like I’m drowning?

“Answer me!” she shouts, stepping closer. “Tell me why you think pills are the answer when things get hard!”

“Because I can’t fucking think knowing that you’re mad at me!” The words explode out of me. “Because every time I look at you, I lose my goddamn mind!”

“So, you get high?”

“So, I don’t do something stupid!”

“Like what?” She’s in my face now, her chest heaving. “Like threaten more people? Like destroy more lives?”

“Like this!” I grab her face in my hands and kiss her hard, desperate, tasting the disgust on her lips.

She pushes against my chest, breaking the kiss. “Stop it! You can’t just—you can’t just kiss me every time you don’t know how to use your words!”

“Then tell me what words to use!” I’m shouting now, my voice cracking. “Tell me how to explain that I can’t breathe when you’re not here! That I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you! That the thought of you leaving makes me want to burn this whole fucking world down!”

“That’s not love, Slater! That’s obsession!”

“Then what is it? What do you call this thing that’s eating me alive?”

“It’s grief!” she screams back. “You’re grieving your brother and you’re using me as a distraction! You think if you can control me, if you can keep me here, it’ll fill some hole that Archer left behind!”

The words hit me fucking hard. “Don’t you dare—”

“It’s true! You know it’s true! You’re so terrified of losing someone else that you’re trying to own me instead of loving me!”

“That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” Her voice breaks. “You bought me furniture to make me dependent. You threatened my boss to prove your power. You took pills because I had the audacity to ignore you for one morning!”

“I was trying to help you!”

“By controlling me! By making decisions for me! By acting like you know what’s best for my life!”

I rake my hands through my hair, pulling hard enough that it hurts. “I don’t know how to do this! I don’t know how to care about someone without destroying them!”

“Then learn!” She’s crying now, tears streaming down her face. “Figure it out! Because this—whatever this is—it’s killing both of us!”

“You want me to figure it out? Fine!” I slam my palm against the wall, the sound echoing through the kitchen.

“You want honesty? Here’s honesty: I’m fucked up, Sage.

I’m so goddamn broken I don’t know how to function without hockey or pills or something to numb the pain.

And yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe I am using you to fill the hole Archer left behind. ”

She flinches like I’ve struck her.

“But you know what else?” I step closer, my voice dropping to something raw and desperate. “Maybe you’re using me too. Maybe you’re so scared of being alone, so tired of running from one disaster to the next, that you’ll take whatever scraps of affection I throw your way.”

“That’s not—”

“You had a dozen chances to leave, Sage. A dozen opportunities to walk away from the dangerous, fucked-up, arrogant fuck who’s nothing but trouble. But you stayed. You kissed me back. You let me build you furniture and make you lunch and pretend we could be something real.”

“Because I wanted it to be real!” The words tear out of her. “Because for five minutes I thought maybe I’d found someone who saw me as more than just another problem to solve or person to fix or—”

“I do see you!”

“No, you don’t! You see what you want me to be! You see someone you can save so you don’t have to save yourself!”

My teeth grind as I stare at her. Because she’s right. Because I’ve been so busy trying to fix her problems that I haven’t dealt with a single one of my own.

“So, what now?” I ask, my voice hoarse. “You leave? Go back to California and pretend this never happened?”

“I don’t know.” She wipes her face with the back of her hand. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Don’t leave.” The words come out broken, desperate. “I know I’m fucked up. I know I don’t deserve you. But don’t go back to California.”

“Why?” she whispers. “Give me one good reason why I should stay.”

For a moment, we just stare at each other across the wreckage of everything we’ve said. Her chest is heaving, tears still wet on her cheeks, and I can see the exact moment she starts to turn away from me.

I move faster than I think, crossing the space between us in two strides. My hands cup her face, thumbs brushing away her tears, and then my mouth crashes against hers.

She freezes for a heartbeat—just long enough for panic to spike through me—then her hands slam against my chest. But instead of pushing me away, her fingers curl into my shirt, dragging me closer with a desperation that matches my own.

The kiss is violent, hungry, all of this want and frustration and need poured into the connection of our mouths. She bites my bottom lip hard, and I groan into her mouth, the pain somehow making everything more real, more urgent.

I back her against the kitchen counter, my hands sliding down to grip her waist, lifting her until she’s sitting on the granite surface. She wraps her legs around me, pulling me between her thighs, and the feel of her against me makes something snap in my chest.

“I’m so mad at you,” she breathes against my mouth, but her hands are already pulling my shirt off with shaking fingers.

“Good,” I growl, my mouth moving to her neck. “Be mad. Just don’t fucking leave.”

Her nails rake down my back under my shirt, marking me in a way that makes my vision blur. When I capture her mouth again, her tongue slides against mine in a dance that’s more battle than kiss.

I can taste her anger, her frustration, her need—all of it mixing with my own until I can’t tell where I end and she begins. My hands tangle in her hair, tilting her head back so I can deepen the kiss, and she makes a sound that goes straight to my dick.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” she gasps when we break apart for air, but her legs tighten around my waist.

“I don’t care.” My voice is rough, broken. “I don’t fucking care about anything except this.”

I lift her off the counter, her legs still wrapped around me and carry her toward the living room. We stumble together, mouths fused, hands desperate and grasping. When the back of her legs hit the couch, I lay her down and cover her body with mine.

She looks up at me, her eyes dark and wild, her lips swollen. In this moment, with her hair spread across the cushions and her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath me, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Everything feels exactly as it should be.

Then she says, “I’m not fucking you.”

The words hit like ice water, shattering the moment so completely I feel the pieces cutting into my chest. I freeze above her, my hands still tangled in her hair, her legs still wrapped around my waist.

Is that all she thinks I want? After everything we just said, everything we just fought about, she thinks this is just me trying to get laid?

I stare into her eyes, searching for something—understanding, maybe, that this is more than physical need. “I’m not asking you to fuck. I’m kissing you.”

But even as I say it, her hands contradict her words, her fingers tracing along the waistband of my jeans with a touch that makes my breath catch. The mixed signals are driving me insane.

“I just needed to make that clear,” she says, but her voice wavers.

“It’s clear.” I lean down until my forehead touches hers, until we’re breathing the same air. “Now kiss me.”