Jefferson's POV
The quiet that stretched between us felt suffocating until he moved closer, offering me a tumbler. His fingers brushed mine as I accepted it, the contact lasting longer than necessary. Despite the rage still coursing through my veins, I didn't pull away. Perhaps it was old habits, or maybe the genuine regret I glimpsed in his expression that stopped me from throwing the glass across the room.
"You need to understand something," he began, retreating a step while motioning toward the seating area. "I've been in your corner since day one. That hasn't changed, no matter what's happened."
I weighed my options, torn between staying upright to maintain my defensive stance and giving in to the exhaustion weighing me down. The burden of recent events finally won, and I sank into the leather sofa with a frustrated sigh. Gordon settled across from me, cradling his own drink.
