Brandon's POV
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, her voice came back — soft, sharp, trembling all at once. The way she'd looked at me when I said what I said. The way everything between us froze midair, like the world was holding its breath.
I could still see her eyes when she turned away — not angry, but wounded. A thousand thoughts fighting behind them.
Thank God for that noise that erupted from behind us. It was the only thing that saved me from saying more — or worse, from her asking what I wasn't ready to answer. That distraction was a miracle. Because one more second, and I would've fallen apart. She would've kept pushing for the truth, and I wasn't sure what would've come out.
The scene replayed in my head over and over — raw, heavy and relentless.
Every version ended differently. Sometimes she looked away. Sometimes she cried. And sometimes — the worst times — she asked again, her voice breaking:
