Vesper POV
My throat burns, but I don’t let the tears fall. Not here, and not now.
“Then don’t give me a reason to leave,” I say. “Don’t run from me and expect me to sit here waiting for you to decide I’m worth staying for.”
He closes his eyes. “I didn’t run from you, Doll. I ran from what I am when I’m with you.”
That hits hard.
Because he’s not wrong. We're fire and gasoline. Fists and knives. We don’t soften each other, we make the wounds burn brighter. But even knowing that, we never walk away.
“We don’t get to be soft,” I say, voice shaking. “We don’t get the storybook. We get blood and broken bikes and f*****g in bathrooms. That’s what this is.”
“And I’m good with that,” he growls. “I just needed a minute to breathe, and I didn’t take it. I panicked. I f****d up. But I’m here
