Page 42 of Cold Mercy

He lies down next to me, on the other pillow, on the opposite side of the bed. I roll to face the wall, already bracing myself for a long, humiliating night of overthinking. Except I fall asleep instantly, like a child.

Morning light hits my face. For a second, I think I’m dreaming again. But when I blink and look down, reality smacks me in the chest. Thomas is stretched across the middle of the bed, and I am curled up against him. My cheek on his chest, his arm resting over my head, and my leg wrapped over his.

Oh my fucking god. I jolt back like I touched fire. I grab my clothes and practically sprint out of the room before he wakes up. Downstairs, I lock myself in the bathroom. What the hell was that? And most importantly, what is wrong with me?

Maybe he won’t remember… Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I cannot let this become anything. I cannot let another man walk into my life only to die or destroy me. I cannot let myself fall for someone just because he is a good man, or handsome, or painfully gentle in ways I do not deserve. I know I started this and created this mess. But I need to cut it off right now.

I make coffee because I need my hands to do something. Two mugs, one for him and one for me, even though my stomach is twisted so tight I doubt I could swallow anything. I have to pull myself together before he comes downstairs, because panic is already clawing up my throat, and if I let it win, I won’t say what needs to be said. I have to end this before it becomes something I can’t control.

I don’t have to wait long, because after a few minutes I hear his steps on the stairs. He comes down already dressed, running his hand through the back of his hair like he’s trying to shake off sleep. I can see in his eyes that he wants to joke, like last night was nothing but a game. The stupid part of my face intends to smile in return, but I force it down and keep my expression still.

“Sit. We need to talk.”

He raises one eyebrow but pulls out the chair and sits across from me, the kitchen island separating us like a line.

He leans back and tries to deflect everything with a joke.

“What did I do this time, princess?”

The nickname hits my stomach so hard I feel nauseous. If I had anything in me, I’d probably throw up. I breathe in, steady myself, and speak before I lose my courage.

“About last night… I want to apologize. It was a mistake. I crossed a line I shouldn’t have, and I dragged you into it. I’m not… I’m not looking for anything, Reed. I’m not ready to let anyone in. So, I think it’s best if we just step back.”

He blinks, drops his hands onto the counter, and his tone snaps from light to irritated.

“You don’t even hesitate, do you? Mistake?” he repeats, his voice low. “Is that what we’re calling it? Fucking brutal, even for you.”

“I’m trying to be honest,” I say defensively. “My life is complicated enough.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. It’s a sharp, cutting sound.

“Right. Complicated.” He steps closer. “Funny, because from where I was lying, it didn’t feel like a mistake. You didn’t just let me stay, Sophia. You begged me to.”

My face heats, but I don’t back down.

“I was under an illusion,” I shoot back, my voice shaking. “For a second, I thought I could trust you, that I could be safe. Clearly, I was wrong, and I see it even more clearly now.”

The words hit him, and I see a fast, subtle flinch in response.

“Trust me?” his voice rising, aggressive now. “You don’t want trust. You want a fucking ghost. You’re using his memory as a shield because you’re too much of a coward to admit you’re still alive.”

“Don’t you dare bring him into this,” I snap. “Noah—”

“Noah is dead!” The words explode out of him, violent and sudden.

Take the blow, accept the sting. You ruin every single thing. He screams the truth to make you bleed. This is exactly what you need.

I want to cover my ears. I want to scream until his voice drowns out. Because the worst part isn’t the cruelty in his tone. The worst part is that for a split second last night, I forgot. And he’s punishing me for the one moment I allowed myself to feel alive.

He invades my space, towering over me, radiating frustration.

“He is dead, Sophia. And you’d rather rot in this shrine you built for a liar than admit you felt good with a real man who is actually standing right in front of you.”

“Shut up,” I hiss, tears stinging my eyes. “You don’t know him, you don’t know what we had.”

“I know he left you alone,” he says cruelly. “I know he lied to you. You think he was a saint? You think he deserves this eternal suffering? Wake up. You’re wasting your life on a memory while pushing away the only person who actually gives a damn.”