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Chapter Fourteen

Graham

Fuck.

I watch her storm off, her hair whipping over her shoulder, her back rigid with frustration, and every instinct in my body screams at me to stop her.

So I do.

Before I can think better of it, I move. Quick strides closing the distance between us, my fingers wrapping gently but firmly around her wrist just before she reaches the door.

“Ana—”

She spins on me, eyes flashing, voice sharp. “Don’t.”

I tighten my grip just slightly, enough to keep her from running, but not enough to make her feel trapped. “Are we really doing this?”

Her lips part, breath coming hard and fast, her chest rising and falling. “We already did this.”

“No.” I shake my head, my jaw tight. “We had a miscommunication, and now you’re acting like I⁠—”

“Like what, Graham?” she demands, yanking her arm free. “Like you don’t know how to let people in? Like you push and pull and expect me to just be here whenever you decide you can handle whatever the hell this is between us?”

I stare at her, my pulse hammering. “You think I don’t want you?”

Her laugh is sharp, bitter. “Wanting me isn’t the fucking problem, Graham. It’s what happens after.”

The words land deep, and I exhale hard through my nose, running a hand through my hair. “You’re twisting this into something it’s not.”

She scoffs. “Am I?”

I step forward, closing the space between us, and lowering my voice. “You’re pissed that I didn’t text you all night, and I’m pissed that you’re pissed. This is fucking ridiculous.”

Her breath catches, her body still, eyes locked on mine.

I press on, voice rough. “I wanted to ask. I wanted to check in. But you told me you had plans, and I wasn’t going to be the asshole who acted like you needed my permission to have a life outside of me.”

Her throat bobs, her lips parting slightly, but she doesn’t speak.

I shake my head, frustration bleeding through. “And now you’re mad that I did show up? What the hell was I supposed to do, Ana?”

She exhales sharply, eyes darting to the side like she’s looking for an escape route. “You weren’t supposed to do anything, Graham. That’s the whole fucking point.”

My teeth clench. “You’re making this harder than it has to be.”

Her eyes snap back to mine, and for a second, I think she might back down.

But instead, she squares her shoulders, lifting her chin, voice cold. “And you’re making this mean less than it does.”

Something cracks in my chest, deep and unwelcome.

Because she’s right.

And she knows she’s right.

I could tell her she was wrong. I could tell her that she’s twisting this into something bigger, something messier than it needs to be.

But I don’t.