Page 58 of His To Erase

Ani

Iwake up to my phone buzzing violently against the nightstand like it’s pissed I’m still alive. My first thought? Earthquake. Second thought? Sarah.

I groan, swiping blindly until I find the screen. “If this isn’t about free alcohol or murder, I’m hanging up.”

“You sound like you got hate-fucked by a lumberjack and left for dead.”

I blink, sitting up slowly. My thighs ache, and my mouth tastes like sin. “Wow. Nailed it in one.”

“Jesus. Was it him?”

I glance around the empty room and there’s no evidence he ever existed outside my thighs. “Define him.”

“Oh my god it was. Tattoo Dick finally put his mouth where his growls are.”

“Sarah!”

“Don’t Sarah me! I’ve been waiting for this feral man to rail the trauma out of you since you met him. Spill. Everything.”

I rub my temple. “It was… a lot.”

“Good a lot or needs-exorcism a lot?”

I fall back against the pillow. “Do I sound like someone who could walk in a straight line today?”

Sarah exhales like she’s witnessing history. “I’m so proud of you. Did he growl?”

“He did worse.”

She pauses. “I’m lighting a candle in your honor.”

“Please don’t. I’m already going to hell, I don’t need your help decorating it.”

“Did you make him breakfast? Is he naked next to you? Are you emotionally ruined?”

I glance at the untouched space beside me. “No, no, and shut up.”

“Ah. The post-dick abandonment spiral. Iconic.”

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m not starting—I’m basking. Text me when you can sit without wincing. Love you, slut.”

She hangs up before I can fire back. I lower the phone and just…

stare at it. Like it might tell me something I’m too much of a coward to ask.

My body’s wrecked, my mind’s fried, and my heart’s somewhere under the floorboards trying not to be dramatic about it.

I slept in his house, again. I let him break me open, and now I’m letting myself want something dangerous.

I don’t know what I was expecting? Breakfast in bed and an apology for emotionally manhandling me into orgasmic submission?

God. I hate this. I hate that I feel everything and want more at the same time.

I shove the blanket back and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The room feels hollow, like the aftermath of a storm and somehow, that makes it worse.

I know he’s out there, somewhere in this house doing God knows what.

I sit there for another second, trying to convince myself I’m not hoping to hear his voice or footsteps or anything that would tell me I didn’t imagine the way he touched me last night.

The way he looked at me like I was his to ruin—and he was already halfway done.

I drag myself out of bed, tugging his hoodie over my head while I pad barefoot down the hall.

“Bern?” I call. But I don’t hear anything. I check the kitchen, the office, even the goddamn laundry room. I even peek into the bathroom like an idiot, like maybe he’s just shaving in there, quiet as a ghost.

He’s not.

There’s no coffee mug on the counter to even indicate he was up this morning.

My stomach tightens, and something about this doesn’t feel right.

I open the back door, squinting at the woods as the cold morning air rushes in.

Still no sign of him or Bern. Just trees and silence and that low hum in my chest that always shows up when something’s about to go wrong.

Well, okay. Fine. If he wants to vanish without a word and go dark without so much as a be right back—cool.

I’ve been ghosted by better men than him, though I can’t say I’ve been left in their house before.

I should probably go home, but there’s no way in hell I’m going back until I’ve had the locks changed, and the landlord still hasn’t confirmed it’s been done.

So, I make coffee that tastes like regret, take a bath that scalds the ache out of my muscles, and eat one of those prepped meals. Bern shows up at some point, and I even throw a ball for her, and we go on a walk in silence.

It’s peaceful.

I keep telling myself I should enjoy it, that I should be grateful for the stillness. But even as I think it, I’m already reaching for my phone.

Didn’t I block this shit? I open it anyway, heart thudding, dread pooling in my throat like something alive.

UNKNOWN: Running only works if no one’s chasing. You think you’re hiding. But you keep leaving crumbs.

There’s no photo this time, but it still punches the air out of my lungs. I block the number again. Throwing the phone on the couch like it burned me, only to hear the buzz of another text.

Frank: Just wanted to say I miss you. Hope you’re doing okay. I’ll always make space for you, doll. Even if you’re not ready yet.

Goddamnit.

Of course he’s being sweet now. Soft, even. I don’t know how he does this, but it works every time. I should ignore it—especially after everything. Especially after what I did.

I’ve been dodging Frank’s advances for months, sidestepping every touch, brushing off every compliment, even pretending I wasn’t leading him on. Telling him I just wasn’t interested in dating anyone.

And yet here I am. Letting Steven crawl under my skin like he was always meant to be there. I don’t even know what the fuck we are. Enemies? Addicts? Two feral things orbiting the same wound? Certainly not dating.

And what’s worse is—I don’t know what that makes me.

I stare at Frank’s message for way too long before I finally start typing a reply.

ME: Guess the universe knew I needed a breather. Hope everything’s good on your end.

I hit send before I can talk myself out of it, then distract myself with Zillow. Again.

Scrolling through places I can’t afford, chasing something—anything—that doesn’t feel like it might cave in under the weight of my secrets.

I’ve been scrolling for what feels like hours, and I finally find something that just might work. It’s a tiny studio on the outskirts of town, and it’s available immediately. I text the number, asking to see it, and of course—it’s open tomorrow at noon.

It feels like a plan. A win.

The sun is starting to set, and at this point I’m about to get an Uber to Sarah’s. I’m so annoyed that I haven’t seen or heard from Steven, that by the time the front door creaks open, my whole body goes tight.

I’m pissed that I’m so relieved. He walks in like nothing happened. All calm and casual, dropping his keys on the entry table as he shrugs out of his jacket like he didn’t just disappear all day without a single word.

His eyes sweep the room, barely landing on me.

“You eat?” he asks.

I blink. Then scoff. “You ghost all day and that’s your opener?”

He raises a brow, calm as ever—like I’m the one being dramatic. “You weren’t bleeding. Figured you were fine.”

Of course he did.

Steven drops into the armchair across from me, pulling his phone from his pocket like it’s just another night, and we’re a normal couple.

“You been here all day?” he asks, not looking up. What is this, small talk or some covert fucking interrogation?

“Was I supposed to do something else?” I mutter, eyes still on the screen. “You live in the middle of the woods. Not a lot of options.”

I keep going, even though my pulse refuses to settle around him. “It was nice, actually. I did absolutely nothing, played with Bern, took a walk. Might actually start a cult out here if you leave me alone long enough.”

Still no reaction. Just that quiet, unreadable stare like he’s cataloging every shift in my voice.

I glance over at him, half-expecting the usual smart-ass remark. “I know I need to go home. I’ll probably head back in the morning.”

A beat of silence.

Then—“You can stay as long as you need.”

I blink. That… wasn’t what I expected. I nod slowly, trying to hide how thrown I am. “Thanks.”

I’m already spiraling. Why is he being nice now? What changed? And why does it make my chest ache like I’ve been waiting for it all day and hating myself for wanting it?

I watched the clock all day, pretending I didn’t hear every creak in this house wondering if it was him walking back in.

And now that he’s here, now that he’s looking at me like I’m something he might not want to lose—I want to scream.

Or kiss him. Or claw my way into his ribs just to prove I matter.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You got plans tomorrow?”

I hesitate. “Maybe.”

His eyes narrow. “Ani.”

I cross my arms defensively before I even speak. “There’s a rental listed just outside of town, so I booked a showing.”

His whole body stills. “You what?”

I try to keep my tone breezy but it’s shaky at best. “I’m not saying I’m going to jump on it, but—”

“You’re not going.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not going,” he repeats, with a final tone.

“Steven,” I snap, standing. “You don’t get to tell me where I can or can’t go.”

He stands, towering over me and every inch of him is coiled with control. His voice drops into something darker, more dangerous.

“I do when you’ve been acting like someone’s watching you.” His eyes narrow. “Jumping at shadows, checking your phone like it’s a bomb. You want to lie to me, fine—but don’t pretend something’s not going on.”

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He can’t know about the messages I keep getting, but he acts like he does.

“You don’t get to disappear and then show up playing house and telling me what to do.” I snap.

“I’m trying to keep you safe.”

I roll my eyes. “By keeping me locked in your house like a fucking pet?”

His voice drops to a low, dangerous tone. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing?”

“Oh, do tell,” I snap, crossing my arms. “What exactly am I doing, Steven?”

“You’re running.”

I lift a brow. “From you?”

“From whatever the fuck happened to you that makes you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time there’s a loud noise.”

I freeze. He hit the nerve—and the bastard knows it.

“I’m done with this conversation,” I mutter, brushing past him. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

His hand catches my wrist. “You can’t run from this.”

I yank free. “Watch me.”