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OLIVIA

I should’ve just gotten in my car.

Kept my head down. Driven home.

Pretended none of this mattered more than it should.

But I see Sebastian across the lot. Keys in hand. Walking toward his car like he can just leave this behind.

And I move. No thought. Just rage, set in motion.

Because he went around me. Decided for me. Like cleaning up the mess meant stripping me of the choice to handle it myself—like I wasn’t capable.

And I’m angry that I let him close enough to matter.

That I want him enough to make this all hurt.

That I keep drawing a line I never really mean to hold.

My feet slap the pavement too loud. Too fast. My hands curl into fists before I realize it, nails biting skin. My heart’s pounding out a warning I ignore. There’s a sharp, bitter heat in my chest—grief, guilt, want—all tangled in a knot I can’t undo.

Thunder cracks somewhere above us. The sky feels tight. Electric. Like it’s bracing for a break that’s already coming.

He’s halfway to his car when I call out.

“Sebastian.”

He stops.

Turns.

His expression doesn’t change. Calm. Quiet. But I know that calm. I’ve seen it slip. Seen what it hides when he thinks no one’s looking.

“I went to Coach's office to resign today,” I say, my voice cold and shaky. “And you’d already been there.”

A beat.

His jaw ticks. But he doesn’t answer.

I step closer. “You think you were doing me a favor? You weren’t. You took something from me.”

“I did what I had to.” His voice is low. Frayed. “Because I knew you wouldn’t fight for this.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” There’s heat now—quiet, simmering. “You’ve had one foot out the damn door since the second this got real. Like you’ve been waiting for a reason to run.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You denying it?” His eyes lock onto mine—stormy and unblinking, full of everything he won’t say out loud.

And he’s right. God, he’s right .

I’ve been running since the moment I felt something that scared me. Since the first time I looked at him and wanted . Since the kiss that should’ve never happened, and the night I should’ve never let myself have.

Because he’s not Ethan. He never will be.

And I don’t know how to let go of that.

Seconds pass. Maybe longer. The kind of silence that echoes.

Cold rain needles down, soaking through my coat, slipping past the collar to chill the skin at the nape of my neck. My hands tremble, teeth pressing hard into the inside of my cheek, but I don’t step back.

I can’t step back.

His gaze doesn’t falter. Doesn’t soften. Just holds mine like he’s daring me to look away first.

A shiver racks through me.

He mutters a quiet curse under his breath—barely audible over the rain—and then he moves.

One step. Then another.

Close enough now that I can see the droplets caught in his lashes. The tension in his jaw. The war still playing out behind his eyes.

He stops just short of touching me, voice rough.“I don’t know what the fuck this is, but I know it’s the first real thing I’ve felt in...”He drags a palm roughly over his face, exhales hard.Then his gaze snaps back to mine—pointed, unwavering.“I know you feel it, too.”

"It's not that simple."

He grunts. "Nothing's fucking simple, Olivia."

I swallow hard. My throat is raw, like I’ve been screaming inside my own chest for hours.

“I didn’t plan this,” I whisper. “I didn’t want this.”

“Bullshit.”

His voice cuts through the rain—sharp, guttural. But it’s not anger. It’s hurt. Stripped down and bare.

“You did want this. You still do.” His eyes flash. “You just hate that you can’t box it up and make it neat.”

“I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“For your career? Not an excuse now.” He drags a hand through his hair, rain flinging off his fingertips, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitch. “So for who? For Ethan’s memory? Or for some version of yourself that doesn’t exist anymore?”

My stomach twists. Hard.

“That’s not fair.”

“I’m not him,” he bites out. “And I’m not trying to be.”

His voice drops—gravel scraping bone.

“I don’t come with peace and promises. I come with a shit-tonne of wreckage.”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t soften.

“I’ve fucked up more than I’ve fixed. Hurt people. Lied. Crossed lines I should’ve never gone near.” His gaze digs into me. “Including you.”

My breath catches.

“I’m not safe, Olivia.”

Silence. Just rain hammering down, and the sound of me breaking from the inside out.

“But I’m here . I’m not going anywhere.”

That splinters the last bit of steel I’ve been clinging to.

A breath trembles out of me. I try to hold the line.

But my voice betrays me.

“This thing between us,” I whisper, “it terrifies me.”

His eyes don’t waver. “I know.”

His hands lift, slow, reverent, and he closes the final inch of space between us.

Fingers on either side of my face. Rain-slicked, warm. Anchoring.

“I’m scared too,” he murmurs. “Fucking terrified.”

My breath shudders out. My hands come up to grip his wrists—not to stop him. Just to hold on.

Because part of me still wants to run.

But a bigger part—God, a louder part—is tired of running.

And maybe I don’t know how to survive this.

But I don’t want to keep surviving without him.

"I can’t think straight around you."

His gaze flicks to my mouth, then back to my eyes—dark, unreadable.

“Then stop thinking."

His mouth finds mine like he’s done waiting, like he’s done pretending this doesn’t wreck him, too. His hands tighten at the sides of my face, grounding me, holding me still as the kiss deepens.

Rain slips between us. Cold. Sharp. But all I feel is heat—his breath, his mouth, the way he moves like he knows exactly how far I’ve unraveled.

My fingers fist the front of his shirt. Not to pull him closer.

To stay upright.

Because the second his lips press harder, slower, I stop remembering what I came here to say. Stop remembering why I'm so afraid.

I let the kiss deepen—just enough to say: I’m in this. I’m choosing this.

When he pulls back, his hands still cradle my face. His eyes scan mine, searching.

“My place,” he says quietly. “Come back with me.”

I hesitate. Just for a second.

Not because I don’t want to.

But because wanting him this much still feels like a risk.

“Okay.”

His jaw tightens, not with tension, but emotion. Like that one word knocked the air out of him.

He presses his forehead to mine one more time, then kisses me again.

And I give in. Fully. Completely.

Because I’ve spent so long trying to control it. To bury it. To convince myself it wasn’t real.

I don’t have a plan. I don’t know what comes next.

But I’m done running.

And maybe this wrecks me.

Maybe it saves me.

Either way—I want to see where it leads.