Page 133 of What You left in Me

He shakes his head. “It’s not. It’s selfish. I came back because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“That’s not romantic, Finn. That’s cynical.”

He smirks faintly. “You say that like I don’t need a diagnosis.”

I hate that he can still make me smile. I hate it almost as much as I hate how much I’ve missed him. I glance away, trying to gather myself, my arms wrapped around my ribs like I’m holding something fragile together. “You think love fixes things. It doesn’t. It just gives you more to lose.”

He closes the distance between us with that deliberate slowness of his, like a predator giving its prey a chance to run, even though we both know I won’t. His voice drops, low and quiet.

“I never said I wanted to fix things,” he mutters. “I just want you.”

The sound of it hits me like a pulse. I shake my head. “You say that like it’s simple.”

“It is simple.”

“It’swrong.”

He smiles, a devastating thing. “Then why are you still here?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Because there isn’t a good answer. Because he’s right, and I hate that he’s right. My body remembers every time he’s touched me, every place his hands have been. My heart remembers too, even if I pretend it doesn’t. Is he still my step-brother? Will Richard and Mom get divorced now?God, this is so fucked up.

I look up at him, forcing my voice to stay steady. “You think saying you love me makes everything okay?”

“No,” he says. “It just makes everything real.”

The silence that follows feels alive. I can hear my heartbeat, fast and uneven. His eyes are on me, dark and full of something I don’t want to admit I recognize. I want him so bad. I want him to fuck me, spank me, and make me cry in bliss.

“Ariane.” He says my name like a touch. He brings his mouth closer until his lips are tracing my jaw and it sends a shiver through me. “Stop pretending you don’t want to forgive me.”

I take a breath that doesn’t help. “You’re not supposed to say that.”

“I’m not supposed to love you either,” he says, kissing me on the neck lightly. “But I do.”

I laugh weakly. “God, you’re exhausting.”

He reaches up, brushing his fingers along my lips, and my breath catches.

“You’ve been crying,” he murmurs.

“Observation of the year,” I whisper back, my voice shaking.

“Don’t,” he says quietly.

“Don’t what?”

“Hide from me.”

The words are simple, but they undo something in me. Because that’s exactly what I’ve been doing all this time. Hiding from him, the truth, and everything that still burns between us.

He leans in again, his breath close enough to make my pulse skip. “I told her I’d take care of you,” he says.

My brows knit. “Who?”

“Your mother. Before she left.”

I flinch. “You talked to her?”

He nods. “She asked me to keep you safe.”