Page 96 of Crave

He looked at me as I let the fabric fall. His eyes were dark, unreadable… but there was something there, brief and burning, feeling too much like a goodbye he wasn’t willing to speak out loud.

I couldn’t stand it.

I stepped closer and slid my hands around his neck, pulling him down until his breath warmed my lips. Until I could pretend we were still on the same side of this, the same world, the same impossible moment.

“You have a choice,” I whispered.

He closed his eyes, a rough, wrecked exhale leaving him, as if the idea hurt more than when the knife had torn into his flesh.

I dug my fingers into the back of his neck. “You can clear yourself and walk away.”

He gave a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all. Hollow, splintering, trying to hide how much it shattered to even imagine leaving his world.

Then he leant in and kissed me.

Soft.

Tender.

Real.

A goodbye disguised as a kiss.

“Will I see you again?” I whispered into his mouth, closing my eyes because I couldn’t bear to see the answer break him. Or me.

It was madness, the way I felt.

A man I hadn’t known a week ago had lodged himself under my skin, into places no one had ever reached. I could pretend it was rebound. Pretend it was loneliness after two years with someone who never really wanted me. I could pretend Razor was a distraction, a phase, a reckless misfire.

But that would be a lie.

Because deep down, sickeningly deep, I knew the truth:

I wanted him.

Richie. The man beneath the violence. The man who bled on my sheets, who kissed me like he meant it, who fought so rough yet touched so tenderly it threw me off balance. But he couldn’t live in my world. And I couldn’t follow him into his. There was no middle ground. No bridge between Mayfair and Hackney. We were a broken equation, doomed from the start.

And the sheer, brutal ache of that hollowed me out.

“See ya, Tricky,” he whispered against my lips.

And before I could move, before I could ruin everything by saying something unforgivable, he turned, ducked under the window frame, and was gone.

Taking my heart with him.

Leaving the room cold, and me standing there with my heart beating against nothing but absence.

Chapter twenty

Razor

I left Tristan’s a wreck.

Didn’t know whether to feel lighter or gutted. No one had ever handed me an out before. Or tried to justify the shit I did. Not even Lennon. And walking away from him, I felt as if I’d left something of myself behind in that house. Maybe I had. I’d told him more than I’d ever told anyone. About me. Richie. Levi.

My throat went tight just thinking it.

I found the car where I’d dumped it a couple nights back, yellow ticket slapped under the wiper — not a resident. Yeah, no kidding. I ripped it off, got in, slammed the door and hissed as my wound pulled.