Page 110 of Kill for a Kiss

His breath hitches. And for a moment, the tension in him cracks. Then he laughs, but it’s a broken sound. “Then why does it feel like youdohate me?” he whispers, harsh and rough. “Why do I look at you sometimes and feel like I did something unforgivable?”

I reach for him again, because this isStan. He and I have gone through an impossible situation and made it out alive, with our heads and our hearts intact somehow. But when my fingers touch his, he closes his eyes like it hurts.

He doesn’t blink his eyes open. He doesn’t move a muscle. He barely breathes. Only after a long moment, he speaks, sounding worn out. “I knew you’d come. That you’d convince Sterling somehow that I needed you. And he’d listen, even though he’d do anything to keep you away from trouble. From me.”

I move closer. “Stan… Is everything okay?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’ as if he could make light of this situation. “But I didn’t fall in the ravine, so that’s a win, yeah?”

I try to smile when he tries too. “You disappeared…”

“Needed some silence,” he mutters, opening his eyes butnot looking my way. “It’s been too fucking loud in my head lately.”

I nod, watching him. His jaw’s clenched. His eyes bloodshot. “It’s the withdrawals,” I say quietly.

He huffs a breath through his nose. “No shit. Feels like my skin’s too tight and my brain’s been rewired.” He takes a deep breath. “But that’s not even the worst part.”

Stan turns to me. His expression is drawn, eyes searching mine.

“Elle,” he says, voice even quieter now. “Was any of it real?”

I blink, knitting my brows. “What?”

“You and me. The way I felt about you. Was that just Kys talking?” He laughs, bitter and sharp. “Or was it just another one of her goddamn tricks?”

I breathe in, choosing my words with care. “If we were under her influence…then maybe it wasn’t all real.”

Stan winces subtly. “So it was fake. Just some fucked-up illusion.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I think what we felt was real. At least for a little while. But Clo twisted it into something else. Something that never really belonged to us by the end of it.”

The silence that follows is thick with grief and clarity tangled together.

“And now,” I add, voice barely a breath, “we can’t go back to the way it was.”

“Right,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Fuck… I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”

“You’re real.” I bump my knee gently against his. “The fact that you’re still here, still trying. That’s real.”

He doesn’t answer for a moment. Then, without looking at me, he says, “I hate this.”

“I know.”

Stan’s voice cracks. “I miss you.”

He looks back at me now, spine straightening as we simplystare at each other, with only a small beam of light between us.

“I miss how it felt,” he says, the hurt clear in his voice. “Even if it was fake. Even if it wasn’t right. I miss waking up thinking I meant something to you.”

“You still mean something to me, Stan.”

He laughs a little and looks at me like he doesn’t believe it. “You should know, Elle, that I…” he whispers, heavy. “I’m still your Stan. No matter what. Even if he’s buried under all this shit.”

I reach out, brushing my fingers against his. “I know.”

He breathes out shakily, then takes my hand, bringing it to the center of his chest, close to the still-healing letter tattooed on him. “This was a stupid idea, huh?”

I don’t say anything. But I smile tenderly at him. Then his other hand comes up to cup my cheek, his rough thumb brushing under my eye.