Thorne.
I stood there, frozen just inside the door, staring at her as her words hung in the air like smoke from a dying candle.
“This isn’t about s*x anymore,” she said, voice cracking at the edges, eyes glassy but fierce. “I swear I know it deep down. It’s not s*x. It’s more than that.”
The room felt too small suddenly. The crucifix on the wall seemed to watch me with hollow eyes.
I wanted to laugh—bitter, hollow—because of course she thought that. Of course she’d fallen into the trap I’d been fighting tooth and nail to keep her out of.
She stepped closer, bare feet silent on the worn rug, and reached for me.
Her fingers brushed my chest, light at first, then pressing flat over my heart like she could pull the truth out through my shirt. I should have stopped her.
Should have c
