Page 38 of Gravehouse

Heat crawls up my throat as I try to squash the memories of how his body felt weighing mine down just three nights earlier. I know I’m being pathetic, weak, a fucking cliché, but my mind is the only place I don’t have to perform.

When I first met him, I appreciated how we could sit in silence and not feel alone. That hasn’t changed. But all it does right now is remind me that I should apologize, only if I start, my apology won’t end there. It’d go deeper, and onto bigger shit that I’m not sure he’s ready to hear much less I am to say.

“Have you fucked Atlas?” His words snap my head toward him.

Jesus fuck, where did that come from?

“What?” All fight drains out of me because every time I look at this frustrating man, I fold. He doesn’t have to know it, and I sure as hell would never show it, but it’s there. A weight I carry everywhere, my biggest regret, and I’m not talking about all the nights I crawled on top of his dick either.

“Why?” I ask, because I what the fuck is he talking about?

“You don’t ask the questions, remember?” He softens, turning into me. “He’s not always who he says he is either, you know...”

I choke on my laugh. I won’t even dignify that with an answer. He can fucking brew on it while he’s balls deep in Miss Universe.

“Oh,” I say, jerking back a little. “And you are?”

“—Andyouare?” he fires back, smirking. I wouldn’t have caught it if I wasn’t dissecting every micro-expression.

I need to stop that.

My focus shifts back to the yard, lifting my mug. “I had no intention of fucking anyone, nor have I, but since you like to broadcast exactly where your dick goes…”

My throat tightens around the memories.

“I may be inclined to change my mind. I have to ask, though.” I pivot my body into him, resting my elbow on the swing’s edge and offering him my undivided attention. “What does Camille think about all this? Or does she truly have no self-respect.”

His left eye twitches as he leans back, stretching his arms across the swing’s full width.

I flinch as if his touch physically hurts, and the deepening of his smirk proves he noticed.

Bastard.

Our bodies cannot exist around each other.

“One?” He lifts a brow. “I never planned on being married. Not even to Camille.”

The way he confirms it as if she’s the bar he’s set is enough to almost send me over the edge.

I tuck stray bits of my hair behind my ear. “I guess you’re still young enough to find someone you want to marry.”

His eyes narrow. “Yeah, because that’s it.”

My mouth opens to answer back, but he shakes his head to cut me off.

“Shut up, Ivy,” he rasps, the words dragging slow over a chuckle. “I don’t wanna talk about this shit anymore. I don’t care about any of it. I just want you to suffer the same way I did.”

I wince, not caring if he sees, my chest tight with the words trapped inside.

“And what makes you think I haven’t already? That I didn’t during that first year?”

He goes still, those wolf-bright eyes as cold as ice. “Because you haven’t tried to kill me again.”

My phone vibrates over my belly, cutting into our conversation. I turn it over to see Leon’s name flashing across the screen.

“Hey!” I answer, ignoring Asher beside me.

“Are you ready?” Leon asks around shuffling in the back.