Page 62 of No Need to Run
“I did,” he replies.
“When?”
“When I asked you to join me.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “You agreed to come.”
That feels like a technicality.
“I didn’t know you planned to take out your only brother,” I wheeze.
There’s a blur of movement that pulls my eyes away from him.
Out of nowhere, something launches from behind a tree.
I scream like a masked man with a knife is standing in front of me.
“Jesus—!” I yell, stumbling back, my heart slamming into my ribs.
Ivy stands in front of us, laughing her ass off.
While I try to remember how to live.
“Oh my God, your face—” she manages between breaths.
I press a hand to my chest, finally gasping out the words, “You’re trying… to kill me.”
Sebastian doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he steps forward like this is completely normal, wraps an arm around her waist, and lifts her off the ground.
She grins, hooking her arms around his neck like she belongs there. Which—obviously—she does.
And then he kisses her.
Well… more like devours her. Like I’m not standing two feet away, actively reconsidering my life choices.
I turn away.
“Nope,” I mutter. “Absolutely not.”
“Drew—” Sebastian starts, breaking the kiss with Ivy.
“I’m going to walk it off,” I cut in, already heading in the other direction. “And by ‘it,’ I mean the heart attack your wife just gave me.”
I hear Ivy laughing again behind me.
I don’t turn around.
The air feels cooleras I aimlessly walk. The sweat has long dried on my skin.
I’m not sure what time it is. Only that I’m enjoying being outside, having no destination. No schedule. Just… freedom.
It’s quiet, with only the birds chirping and the thud of my shoes against the sidewalk.
Day bleeds into dusk. Quiet houses and empty streets the further I go. I don’t know why it makes me nostalgic.
Maybe it’s everything moving forward while I still feel… stuck.
My heart slowly settles back into a normal rhythm, though my pulse still hums faintly in my ears.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling. Seeing Ivy and Sebastian like that... sometimes it hurts.
