Page 74

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he murmurs, his voice like gravel and thunder. “You should know that by now, amore mio.”

His hand comes up, fingers curling lightly around the side of my neck, not to hold, just to feel . Just to remind us both that this thing between us is real.

“You think I don’t feel it too?” he asks. “I feel you everywhere, bambina . In my head. Under my skin. You’ve been there since the second I laid eyes on you. And no matter how many times I try to convince myself to pull back to keep you out… I can’t fucking do it.”

His thumb brushes my pulse, and I feel something in my chest clinch.

“I told you, I’m not good at this. But I’m trying. For you. Only you .”

And just like that, my heart free-falls.

The silence stretches between us, thick and raw. Then he pulls his hand away, slowly but keeps his eyes on mine.

“I’ll be right here,” he says softly. “Waiting.”

I walk inside, and the door clicks shut behind me.

The silence inside the clinic is different, too clean, too still. Like everything sterile here has never touched the kind of mess I’m carrying in my chest.

Bloody hell. Why do I feel like this? Dejected.

Hollow. Like something’s been stripped out of me.

It’s not like I want a baby. I’m nineteen.

I can barely decide what to do with my future, let alone raise an actual human being.

Even when I made the reckless choice to let him come inside me, I knew.

.. knew that I’d be taking the morning after pill. It was never a question.

No part of me is ready for motherhood. Or marriage. Or any of those things girls dream about in quiet, glittery fantasies. That’s not my life. That’s not his life.

Still… this feels like grief.

Not for a baby I don’t want, or even have for that matter. I might not even get pregnant. But maybe for something else. Something that could’ve meant more, if we were different people. If we lived in a different world.

A nurse at the front desk doesn’t ask questions. Just hands me a clipboard, her smile polite, distant. I fill in my name, date of birth, circle the boxes. It feels surreal. Like I’m watching someone else move my pen across the paper.

Ten minutes later, I’m in a consultation room. The air smells like antiseptic and paper gowns. I sit on the edge of the exam table, fingers fidgeting in my lap.

A soft knock, then the door opens. My doctor is a woman in her mid-thirties with kind eyes and a voice so calm it makes me feel like I might cry.

“Hi, Jordyn. I’m Dr. Amato. Ares said you’d be coming in today.”

I stiffen slightly, but she’s already sitting across from me, flipping open a folder.

“No judgment here,” she says gently. “Just options.”

She hands me a small packet, the morning after pill, and talks me through it. When to take it. What to expect. I nod along, numb.

“Now,” she says, folding her hands. “About contraception going forward. Have you been on anything before?”

I shake my head.

“All right. We’ll run through a few options. The pill is simple and effective, as long as it’s taken consistently. I can prescribe it today, but we’ll need a follow-up in a few weeks.”

I nod again.

She pauses. “Jordyn, I’m obligated to ask. Are you doing this because you want to… or because someone else asked you to?”

I lift my eyes.

And for a second, I don’t know how to answer...because it’s both.

“Um, no, it’s my choice,” I say finally. “I’m not ready for a baby right now.”

She watches me a moment longer, then nods.

“Okay. Let’s get you started.”

The door clicks shut behind me, and the sunlight hits me like a slap.

It’s too bright. A little too real.

I squint as I step outside, pulling my cardigan tighter around myself, like it might hold everything in place.

And then I see Ares.

He’s pacing back and forth in front of his bike, head down, hands clenching into fists and unclenching at his sides.

His jacket’s off, thrown over the seat like it pissed him off just for existing.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, then stops, eyes trained on the pavement like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

He looks... tense, wrecked, even.

Like waiting outside a clinic for a girl he swore he’d never fall for might just break him. I swallow the lump rising in my throat and take a step toward him.

He hears it and his head lifts instantly, eyes locking to mine like a sniper sighting a target, but it’s not anger and not relief, either.

It’s something else.

He exhales hard and closes the space between us in two long strides.

“Everything okay?” he asks, voice low, searching my face for anything that might say otherwise.

I nod. “Yeah. Took the pill. Got the prescription.”

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move or blink.

Just stares at me like he’s trying to solve an equation that shouldn’t exist.

Then, quietly, “You sure?”

I manage a small smile. “I’m sure.”

Still, he doesn’t let go of the tension in his shoulders. Doesn’t breathe until I reach up and press my hand to his chest, right over his heart, where it’s pounding unusually fast beneath my palm.

“I’m okay, Ares,” I say, softer this time. “We’re okay.”

His hand covers mine. Large, warm and a little unsteady.

But he nods and finally, he exhales.

His fingers tighten around mine.

Then, without a word, he pulls me into him.

Not rough, not possessive, just firm, like he needs the contact as much as I do. His arms wrap around me, grounding, steady. My cheek rests against his chest, and I feel the way his heartbeat finally begins to slow. Then he dips his head.

His lips brush mine, soft and slow, so unlike the fire we usually fall into. This is something different. A silent apology, a quiet I see you . A breath of peace in a world that gives us none.

When he pulls back, his eyes search mine. “Come with me.”

I blink. “Where?”

His mouth tilts into a faint, unreadable smirk. “Somewhere I go when I need quiet.”

I raise a brow incredulously. “You? Quiet?”

He shrugs, grabbing his helmet off the bike. “Even monsters need silence sometimes.” And just like that, the tension in my chest loosens.

I slide the helmet on. “I’m in.”