Page 21

I wake up too hot, too restless, and too pissed off at myself.

For dreaming about him.

For hearing his voice in my head, all deep and controlled, telling me to go home like I was some lost little thing who needed direction.

“Go home, Kenzie.”

My jaw clenches.

I roll over, burying my face in the pillow, as if that’ll erase the memory.

It doesn’t.

Because all I see is his face when he stepped back.

All I hear is the weight in his voice, the unspoken message underneath it.

If I want him, I have to be the one to prove it now.

And I have no idea how to handle that.

For a few blissful seconds, I let myself pretend none of it happened.

That I didn’t go to the rink.

That I didn’t stand there like an idiot, searching for words.

That he didn’t look at me like he was done chasing.

I exhale hard, forcing myself up.

I have things to do today.

I don’t have time to sit here obsessing over a man who finally decided I wasn’t worth his effort.

Right?

Right.

I fling off the covers, already determined to ignore every single damn thought about Grant Maddox.

And by determined, I mean I last a solid three minutes before his face creeps back in.

Son of a bitch.

I refuse to sit still.

Because sitting still means thinking. Thinking means overanalyzing. And overanalyzing means spiraling.

So I launch into full-blown distraction mode.

First? Cleaning.

I strip my bed, throw the sheets in the washer, scrub the kitchen counters like I’m in a kitchen cleaning competition.

Then? A workout.

A brutal, soul-crushing HIIT session that leaves me drenched in sweat and zero percent closer to forgetting Grant Maddox.

Okay. Fine. Errands.

I drive across town for groceries, even though my fridge is fully stocked. Walk through a department store, even though I don’t need anything.

And the entire time?

I check my phone.

Every.

Damn.

Five.

Minutes.

No calls. No texts. Nothing. Grant isn’t reaching out.

My stomach tightens. I tell myself it’s a good thing. That he’s respecting whatever the hell boundary he set last night. That this is exactly what I wanted.

But the truth?

It’s unraveling me.

Because I expected something.

A text.

A call.

A stupid, smug one-liner that would let me pretend this was still just a game we were playing.

But there’s nothing. And now I don’t know what to do with myself.

I make it until four o’clock.

Four hours of pointless distractions, running errands I didn’t need to run, doing anything and everything except dealing with the mess in my head.

And I still feel like I’m going insane. I stare at my phone for a solid thirty seconds. Then another thirty.

Then I give up and call the only person who’s going to tell me exactly what I don’t want to hear.

Talia.

She picks up on the second ring. “Finally catching up, huh?”

I groan, dragging my free hand down my face. “I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“Kenzie, please. I know your avoidance patterns better than I know my own. I figured I’d be getting this call hours ago.”

I close my eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“I know. Now spill.”

I exhale slowly, letting my head drop against the back of the couch.

“I think I fucked up.”

There’s a pause.

Then a long, drawn-out sip, like she’s really settling in for this one. “Go on.”

I scowl. “Do you have to sound so smug about it?”

“Oh, absolutely. Now, tell me what happened.”

I groan again, then start talking.

I tell her about going to the rink. About standing there like a pathetic idiot, waiting for him to make this easier for me. About the moment I thought he was going to kiss me—and how, instead, he told me to go home.

When I finish, there’s silence.

Then—

“Well. That’s hot.”

I blink. “What?”

“I mean, the man finally put you in your place. That’s some prime romance novel shit.”

I groan. “You’re the worst.”

“No, I’m just not afraid to tell you what you already know.”

She lets the words settle. “You like him.”

I press my lips together. “Talia—”

“No, shut up. You like him. And it’s messing with you. And instead of just admitting that, you’re spiraling because it doesn’t fit into whatever bullshit rulebook you’ve been playing by.”

I open my mouth. Then close it. Because I don’t have an argument. I don’t answer. Because I don’t have one.

Talia’s right.

I like him.

And not in the way I like a great airport lounge or finding an empty row on a red-eye flight.

I like him in a way that scares the absolute hell out of me.

In a way that makes me feel restless and reckless and way too aware that this isn’t some temporary, fleeting thing.

Because if it were?

I wouldn’t feel like I was coming apart at the seams just because he told me to go home.

Talia sighs. “I get it, you know.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Do you?”

“Yeah. You’re not used to wanting something you can’t just walk away from.”

The words hit like a gut punch.

Because she’s right. She’s so damn right.

I’ve spent my entire life leaving before things got too real. I’m always on the move.

Always running. Always keeping my world big enough that no one person could ever become the center of it.

Until now.

Until Grant Maddox walked into my life, kissed me like he already knew how I liked to be kissed, and ruined me for anyone else.

I swallow hard. “So… what the hell do I do now?”

Talia snorts. “Oh, babe. The answer’s easy. You stop running. And you start fighting.”