TJ’s gloves snapped off and hit the tray with a sharp slap.
Another appointment. Another mask.
He wiped the last bit of ink off the guy’s forearm, gave a quick rundown of healing balm and care instructions, then walked to the back of the shop like the building owed him answers.
Because something in his chest hadn’t stopped tightening since he walked out of Rory’s office.
He didn’t even punch a wall.
He just left.
And now?
Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the look in her eyes when she said she couldn’t choose.
He’d heard the uncertainty in her voice, sure.
But what stuck with him, what burned, was the hope that crept in at the end of it.
Like some part of her wanted to stop pretending.
Wanted to stop running.
Wanted both of them.
And maybe...
Maybe he was willing to give he
