Page 64 of His To Erase

Ani

“Jesus,” I mumble. “Did you fight a bear out there or just beat the shit out of the trees?”

He looks wrecked—his hair’s a mess, his shirt clings to his chest with sweat, and his knuckles are raw like he went the rounds with the forest and didn’t win.

His eyes flick up and they just look dark and cold.

Whatever warmth cracked through last night is long gone—shoved back behind steel walls like it never happened.

I cross my arms over my chest, the oversized shirt suddenly feeling paper-thin. “Hey, you good?”

He doesn’t answer. Just grabs a water bottle from the counter, cracking it open, and downs half of it in silence. His jaw ticks as he sets it down, staring at his phone.

“I don’t make a habit of fucking the same mistake twice,” he mutters—more to himself than to me.

I blink. “Wow. Charming.”

He still won’t meet my eyes. “I’m not in the mood to play games.”

I snap, voice cracking as it claws up my chest. “Apparently I needed a reminder of how fast you can turn into a fucking prick.”

He shrugs. No flare of guilt. No flicker of remorse. Just a careless roll of muscle and silence—like none of it meant shit. It’s like I didn’t have his cock buried inside me six hours ago while he whispered things that made me ache in places I didn’t know I could feel.

Then he just walks away, disappearing down the hallway like I’m not even worth slamming a door over.

My breath burns in my lungs, trapped behind the scream I won’t give him as I clench my fists at my side. I stalk to the counter, snatching the mug he made—still full, still steaming—and carry it to the bedroom like it’ll keep me from doing something stupid like going after him.

Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed, clutching my phone like it owes me answers, staring at Frank’s message.

Frank: I’m starting to wonder if you’re avoiding me. That wouldn’t be smart, Ani. I’m not a man you ghost.

I don’t have time for this. My stomach lurches as another text pops up from another unknown number. I'm about to throw it across the room and never look back.

REALTOR - LITTLE RIDGE PROPERTIES: Hi Ani! Just confirming your 10:30 appointment to view the retail space at 15 Wisteria Street, near 5th. Looking forward to meeting you.

Shit—I forgot I even messaged her when I was spiraling and pretending like I had a future.

I stare at the screen like it’s accusing me of something because I already know what I’m about to do. And I also know he’s going to be pissed, but right now, I don’t give a fuck.

If Steven wants to slam doors without slamming them, then fine.

If he wants to act like I’m some inconvenience he didn’t ask for, then let him.

I’ve been dealing with men like him my entire life.

Men want to control everything, but can’t handle the consequences when they lose it.

I’m not going to stick around and beg him to treat me like I matter.

I shove the last of my things into my bag—and tug my hoodie over my head with shaking hands and slip my shoes on, ignoring how my fingers fumble at the laces. I grab my phone, pull up Uber, and order the ride. Estimated time, ten minutes.

Perfect.

My hand hovers over Bernadette’s soft fur as I crouch down in front of her. Her big brown eyes blink up at me like she knows, like somehow she’s already picked up the scent of my spiral.

“I’ll be back, okay?” I whisper, smoothing her ear back.

I don’t actually know that, but it’s easier than explaining why I suddenly can’t breathe in this house anymore. Not like she cares anyway.

I step out onto the porch, because fuck him. If Steven’s so worried about me staying put, maybe he should’ve thought about that before he decided to treat me like a fucking liability.

The wind slices through my hoodie, sharp and mean, and I tug it tighter around me, pacing the edge of the porch like it might settle the burn in my chest. Every breath tastes like smoke and pine.

Then I hear the gravel crunching under tires as a white Toyota rolls into view, with a woman behind the wheel who looks like she drinks herbal tea and apologizes to plants.

Thank God.

I yank the door open and slide into the backseat without a word.

The synthetic scent of air freshener hits my nose like a slap, clashing with the pine still stuck in my hair.

The engine hums, and we start down the winding mountain road—trees whipping past like a memory I didn’t ask for as my phone buzzes again.

Sarah: Hey, I know you’re probably getting railed six ways from Sunday or whatever, but any chance you could cover a shift? Alex called out and I’m drowning just thinking about it, and I miss you. Don’t ever take time off again…mmmkay thanks.

I stare at the screen for a second, then glance out the window. The mountains are behind me now. My mind is replaying every moment. The silence, the secrets, the fucking whiplash of him.

But Sarah’s message on my phone settles something in me. Work means normalcy, plus, she’s not wrong. I haven’t seen her for what feels like weeks.

Me: Yeah. Tell Alex I hope he chokes on DayQuil.

I exhale, staring at the screen like it’s some kind of anchor.

I wasn’t planning to stop at my place—I didn’t exactly want a front-row seat to the ghost town of my own trauma—but I probably should change.

I’ve been living in hoodies and Steven’s tension for days, and if I’m going to walk into work and pretend I’m fine, I should at least look like a person.

The message from my landlord says everything’s good to go and new keys are waiting in my box. So I give the driver a new address and have her drop me at my apartment. I tell her I’ll be back in ten.

The building still looks the same as I climb the steps two at a time, keys jangling like guilt in my pocket as I reach the door.

Inside, it smells faintly like old coffee and whatever candle I left half-burned the last time I was here—something vanilla, maybe sandalwood.

I head straight to my room and strip out of the clothes that still smell like him—cedar, sweat, and that faint trace of leather that’s starting to feel like a bruise I can't wash off.

I throw on jeans and a cropped sweater. Nothing fancy.

In the mirror, I catch a flash of some light bruising along my collarbone, and some faint fingertip shadows on my hip. I look away before the ache has time to register.

I water the plants next. The fiddle-leaf is dramatic as ever, slumping like it’s personally offended I left.

The succulents are somehow still kicking, which is hilarious, considering I can’t remember the last time I touched them.

It’s dumb, but part of me clings to the idea that maybe keeping them alive means I haven’t totally wrecked everything.

I wipe my hands on my jeans, grab my bag, and head back outside. I glance around the parking lot, only to find it empty. There’s no white Toyota, and no rumble of tires waiting at the curb.

I frown and pull out my phone, opening the app. Trip completed. Thanks for riding with Susan.

What the hell? I told her I’d be right back. I curse under my breath and open the app again, thumb hovering over the Request Another Ride button and that’s when the low purr of an engine creeps in from the corner of the block.

A sleek black car with the windows tinted slowly turns the corner, rolling to a stop in front of my building.

My stomach tightens, as my instincts flare—the driver’s window rolls down. It’s Frank.

His forearm drapes over the wheel, and his tattoos are stark against the leather interior. There’s no smile. No wave. Just his dark unreadable eyes, fixed on me like I’m prey and he’s deciding whether or not he’s in the mood to hunt.

“Ani,” he says smoothly. “Get in.”

I blink. “What are you—how did you—I thought you—?”

He ignores all my questions, and keeps talking. “Didn’t think I’d be back this early, but the deal closed sooner than expected. Lucky timing… for you.”

I open my mouth and close it. Everything in me’s still fried from Steven’s mood swings. My nerves are worn and raw, and I’m exhausted.

“I’m good,” I say quickly, gripping my phone tighter. “I was just ordering another—”

“I’ll take you,” he says, keeping his voice calm. “Where were you headed?”

I hesitate. “Just going to look at a place. And I’ve got work later.”

His head tilts slightly, narrowing his eyes like he knows I’m leaving something out and doesn’t care enough to call me on it.

Then his gaze drags down my body. “You look tired,” he says flatly. “Rough night?”

My pulse skips.

“I’m fine.” I swallow. “Frank, really. I don’t need—”

“I didn’t ask what you need, baby girl,” he chuckles. “I asked where you were going.”

It’s a subtle warning wrapped in concern.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, torn between flight and politeness. The whole scene feels off—like the street’s too quiet, and the air’s gotten thicker. But I’m too caught off guard to say no, and I don’t want to be late. So I open the door and get in.

The leather’s cold against the back of my thighs as I settle in, the door clicks shut behind me and I clasp my hands in my lap to keep them from fidgeting.

“Just downtown,” I say lightly, forcing a shrug that feels too casual. “I’m meeting someone.”

He says nothing, but watches me with one hand on the wheel, and the other tapping against the gearshift like he’s keeping time with my heartbeat.

Then, finally, he smiles.

“Back to the grind already?” he murmurs. “Figured you’d want more time to rest after… everything.”

My stomach curls, but I keep my tone bright. “Didn’t realize I needed your permission to look at real estate.”

His knuckles tighten on the wheel—barely, but just enough that I catch it. A beat passes, then he lets out a soft chuckle, like I’ve said something funny.

“Of course not, Doll,” he says smoothly. “Just seems a little soon, that’s all. But you’ve always rushed into things, haven’t you?”