I should have walked away.
I wanted to walk away.
But I didn’t.
Instead I stood there like a deer in headlights while Gabriel’s words draped themselves over my body like a delayed fire.
“But then why do you still look at me as if this isn’t over?”
My throat tightened.
Because it wasn’t over.
Not for me.
Not for him.
Not for us.
I could deceive myself as much as I wanted, could tell myself I’d moved on, that I didn’t care, that the past was buried, my ears filled with dirt —
The bond between us, though, had never really broken.
It had frayed.
It had bled.
But there it was, no matter how hard I fought it.
And Gabriel knew it.
It is what he felt, as I did.
“Say it,” he whispered behind me. His voice was low, rough. “Say you don’t feel it, and I’ll let you go.”
I clenched my
