Page 35 of Knot So Sweet

He definitely saw me losing my mind. What must he think of me? I couldn’t bear to look at him again. The silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable, my heart pounding in my chest like a war drum.

He stepped into the room, his presence filling the space with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. "You okay?"

"Yep. Fine. Just… cleaning," I said, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. I kept my back to him, hoping the motion would somehow shield me from his scrutiny.

"Right." His tone was skeptical, and I could practically feel his gaze boring into my back. "You’ve been scrubbing that same spot for a while now. I think it’s safe to say it was already clean," he said, stepping closer. "What’s really going on, princess?"

A part of me wanted to snap at him, to shove the rag into his hands and tell him to clean it himself. But there was a deeper part—one that craved his understanding, his support. I clenched my jaw, battling the instinct to spill everything.

I shot a glance over my shoulder, catching the flicker of concern in his eyes and my chest deflated. "It’s just... a lot right now."

"A lot?" he echoed, his voice lowering. "You mean Adam? The Den? Or is it something else?"

I turned to face him, the frustration boiling over. "It’s everything… I’m tired of feeling like I’m just waiting for the next disaster to strike. It’s exhausting." I bit my lip to stop myself from releasing all of my demons on him. He had that effect on me and I didn't like how easily he got me to speak my truth.

He studied me, those green eyes searching for something beneath the surface. "You don’t have to do this alone, Candi. Let me help you."

"Who says I want your help?" I shot back, my words sharp and defensive, like a shield I’d raised against his concern. "I can handle myself."

"Clearly," he replied dryly, crossing his arms and leaning back slightly. "You’re doing a fantastic job."

His gaze flickered down to the floor where the broken band lay—a guilty reminder of my addiction, a fractured piece of my control.

"When was the last time you cut yourself, Candi?" The question hung in the air, heavy and accusatory, making my blood simmer. I could see the concern etched in his expression. And I masked my need to tell him with anger. "Tell me."

"Six months ago. When Owen was taken by Michelle. I couldn’t handle it and lost my control."

"Where?" he demanded, the kind of tone that hinted he could push harder if he chose to. Bark my compliance, but he didn't.

My teeth clenched together, the tension coiling tight in my chest. I didn’t want to show himthatparticular spot—the scar hidden beneath layers of ink therapy.

The serpent and dagger.

I folded my arms across my chest, instinctively shielding myself. If I revealed it, he’d see the truth—the way I subconsciously chose him and Viper to heal this wound. I couldn’t let him in that deep.

He took a step back, and I exhaled sharply, the breath rushing out of me in a mix of relief and anxiety. Maybe he wasn’t going to push me on this. But then, my hand landed on my stomach, an unconscious gesture that he immediately noticed, his eyes tracking the movement with keen interest.

"Show it to me."

FUCK.

I hesitated, the weight of his request hanging heavy between us. "Why do you care?" I shot back in a final attempt to keep him at arms length.

"Because I want to understand you, Candi. To be worthy of you." His gaze didn’t waver, intense and probing, as if he were peeling back the layers I so carefully constructed.

"Maybe I don’t want to be understood," I snapped, my defenses flaring. But deep down, a part of me craved that understanding, that connection I was so afraid to acknowledge.

"Don't hide from me. Please," he said softly, almost coaxing. "Let me in. Just a little."

The way he said it, with that steady gaze and a sincerity that almost broke through my barriers. My stomach twisted. "Whatif I show you and you don’t like what you see?" I countered, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Candi," he said my name in a rough tone. "There is nothing you could say or do that would make me not want you."

I felt the walls I had built around myself quiver. The thought of revealing that scar, of sharing my pain, terrified me. But the warmth in his eyes suggested that maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t judge me for it.

With a shaky breath, I let my arms drop to the hem of my favorite band T—the one I wore when I needed armor. But right now, this armor was doing shit to keep me protected from Ghost.

I lifted the shirt to show my midriff, exposing the ink that wrapped around my belly button.

---