Page 76 of Pin My Alpha
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I do.”
“Then why did you do it?”
His eyes shut.
That answer takes too long.
“I was angry,” he says finally. “And hurt. That doesn’t excuse it.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I should’ve walked away. I should’ve given you space. I should’ve listened when you said you were scared instead of hearing it as you trying to leave me.” His voice gets rougher. “I made it about me.”
I grip the railing so hard my fingers hurt.
He said scared.
Not difficult. Not dramatic. Not cold. Scared.
That’s somehow worse.
“You slammed your hand down,” I say. “You got in my face, and then you…” My voice breaks. I can’t say it. Can’t say I asked for it. Can’t admit I wanted it rough because rough was easier than him looking at me like I mattered.
Declan’s face folds.
“I know,” he says.
“Stop saying that.”
“I don’t know how to make it better.”
“You can’t.”
The apartment door is open at the top of the stairs. I walk through it before he can answer.
Everything is exactly where it was this morning, which is deeply rude. The couch. The record player. The stupid guitar in the corner. My mug in the sink from earlier, black coffee dried in a dark ring at the bottom.
My presence is tangled into the air itself, woven through his until I can’t tell what belongs to who anymore.
I should’ve been more careful.
I should’ve kept my things separate.
Instead, I walk into the bedroom and find my whole pathetic heart spread across his bed.
The nest isn’t even subtle anymore. It’s a full-blown disaster of feelings. His shirts are mixed into the blankets. The hoodie I stole after the first night is tangled around one of my pillows. And the green bar towel is right in the middle, folded underthe spot where my cheek goes, like I’ve been sleeping with it on purpose. Which I have.
I just stand there, staring at it.
“Well,” I say, because if I don’t make a joke, I’m going to start screaming. “That’s humiliating.”
Declan stays in the doorway.
“Shay—”
