Page 101 of The Rookie

He knows Griffin doesn’t even have to throw a punch—because he’s already won.

And that’s when it really hits me.

Griffin was right.

Gavin didn’t come here just to talk. He came here because he thought I’d still be waiting.

Because he thought I’d still want him.

And looking at him now—angry, frustrated, flustered in a way I’ve never seen before—I feel absolutely nothing.

I thought this moment would be cathartic.

I thought I’d feel vindicated, validated, something.

But all I feel is done.

“Gavin,” I say quietly. “You should go.”

He whips his head toward me, eyes narrowing. "Avery?—"

"Go," I say again, firmer this time. "Whatever you're looking for here...it's gone."

He stares at me, waiting for me to take it back, to hesitate, to say anything that gives him hope.

I don’t.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, Gavin shakes his head, scoffs, and turns on his heel.

The door slams behind him.

Silence settles in the room, heavy and final.

I exhale, running a hand over my face.

Griffin lets out a low whistle. "Damn. That was brutal, Sinclair. Kinda hot, though."

I throw a pillow at him.

He catches it effortlessly, grinning. "Seriously. That was some top-tier rejection. I think he left a part of his ego on the carpet."

I groan, flopping back against the bed. "I can’t believe that just happened."

Griffin crawls onto the bed beside me, his voice softer now. "You okay?"

I turn my head to look at him. His hair is still damp, his towel barely hanging on, his stupid grin fading into something more serious.

And maybe it’s the adrenaline.

Maybe it’s the relief.

Or maybe it’s just him.

But suddenly, I don’t want to think anymore.

I just want to feel.

So I push up onto my elbows, grab the back of his neck, and kiss him—deep, slow, certain.

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