Page 83 of Wasted Grace

Wait for her to shift, to lock the emotions back behind her eyes, to go blank like she always does when things get messy.

But she doesn’t.

She just keeps staring. Unmoving. Unblinking. The disbelief carved deep across her face.

I don’t dare smile, and shake my head—a gesture I’ve known to calm her down. Something tells me if I do that, she might actuallypullthe trigger.

Silence stretches between us, heavy and loud. Until her voice cracks through it, hoarse and wrecked.

“Why?”

God, the pain in her voice. It twists through my chest like wire. Her face is a pulsing beat of crumpling and hardness—every inch, every corner.

Her scar slicing her brow and cheek is now a twisted barb etched onto her face.

She cares.

A foolish, wet laugh punches out of me before I can stop it. Broken with disbelief and hope. It rattles my ribs and sets my shoulder on fire. I wince, groaning.

She notices. Concern flickers across her features, and the barrel of her gun disappears from my forehead.

She backs away—briefly—then paces, tense and jerky, before collapsing into the chair again like her limbs don’t know what to do with her rage.

“I didn’t want you to find out, Gree,” I say quietly. “Not like this.”

Her eyes snap to mine. Cold again. Detached. But her voice betrays her.

“Why?” she repeats. This time, calmer. But still pained.

I exhale. My voice low. “It was... a lot of things. Khushi. You. My blunder with Aarohi. Khushi Joshi. I was failing with everyone. I kept letting people down. Baby, I—”

Her head jerks likeIheld a gun to her.

Shit. Shouldn’t have called her that.

I swallow hard, backtracking mentally, but it’s too late. I used that word. Her name. That term of endearment.

Her jaw ticks. The vein at her temple pulses. I don’t know what she’s going to do.

“You...” Her voice is thick, lips pressing together like she’s holding back tears. “You thought taking a bullet would fix it?”

“No!” My panic surges. “God, no. Yesterday had nothing to do with that. I’m not in that place anymore. I’mnot.”

I push myself up with a grunt, the pain searing, but I force the words out anyway.

“Don’t pity me. Don’t... don’t look at me like that.”

She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move.

“You tried to—”

“Kill myself?” I cut in bitterly. “Yes. I did. But it wasn’t just aboutyou. You weren’t the only reason. You weren’t even the trigger. The problem was...” I trail off, unable to finish.

She’s staring at me like she’s solving an equation she doesn’t want the answer to. I can see it hit her—something I said, maybe something she remembered.

Her lips part.

“The problem was much larger than that,” she murmurs.