I came back to the States to get away—to breathe, to think, to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do next. I didn't expect the person I was running from to end up in the same damn room as me.
And yet, here he is.
He's lying right next to me, like we didn't just go at it earlier. Like we didn't just tear into each other with words sharp enough to cut. Like he wasn't on the edge of losing it—right here, in my own house, under my dad's roof. And he was going to do it. I could see it in his eyes, in the way his whole body was coiled tight, like a live wire ready to snap.
But then—he didn't.
Something made him stop. Something I didn't catch, didn't feel. One second, he was standing there, his hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. And
