Page 125 of Caught Stealing

And God, his pain is breaking me as much as it is him.

“Phoenix,” I whisper, my hand shifting to cup the back of his neck. “Baby, please. Tell me what to do.”

All he does is shake his head. Over and over and over again while a war wages behind his eyes.

“I’m damned either way.” He continues shaking his head. “No matter who I choose, I’ll inevitably lose the other.”

“Forget about me and forget about Kason.” My thumb swipes over his cheekbone, and I don’t miss the way he leans into my touch. “Forget us and chooseyou. Your happiness, your future.”

Another tortured sound leaves him as he tries to look away, and then I feel a single tear collide with my thumb. It’s silent, but it might as well make a sonic boom as it meets my skin.

Or maybe that’s the sound of my heart shattering on impact. Because there is no worse pain on the planet than watching the person you love fall apart before your eyes, knowing you’re helpless to stop it.

He’s not going to survive this.

Not unless I take some of the pain or the fault or the choice for him.

Another tear collects on my thumb, and I’m quick to swipe it away. The knot in my throat aches as painfully as the heart in my chest at the sight of it, and I know what I have to do. Despite every cell in my body rejecting the idea, I’ll do it anyway if it means saving him pain.

I’ll choose to be selfless. Choose to live with regret.

Choose someoneelse.

Him.

The words catch on my vocal cords, but I push them out anyway—praying for my willpower and resolve to get me through breaking my own heart in order to save his.

“I’m yours, Nix. Always. You have to know that. So choose you, baby. ‘Cause I’m choosing you too.”

My thumb brushes his cheek, memorizing the feel of his skin beneath mine. Then, for the second time in as many days, I force myself to do something I don’t want to.

I press my lips to his forehead and walk away.

Because I’ll always choose him.

Even if he can’t.

Even if it tears me apart in the process.

Thirty-Four

Phoenix

April

I lean against the threshold of Kason’s doorway and watch him tap away at his keyboard while sitting at his desk. Probably working on a paper, if I had to guess, even though his workload isn’t knowledge I’m privy to anymore.

We’ve barely spoken in the past three weeks since the blow-up in Nashville, although not for my lack of effort. Even though I have no clue what I could say to make my deceit sting any less, especially since I’m still trying to do everything I can to make it right.

But he’s made it perfectly clear he has little to no interest in talking to me right now.

His opting to stay home after the incident at the St. Seb’sgame for spring break—a decision not made lightly—should have been my first clue that the silence between us wouldn’t just get better with time. It was a fool’s wish to think a little time apart would do the trick, and I knew that. But damn if I didn’t hope he’d return from Nashville with even an ounce of forgiveness.

But nope. Since the break, he’s either not home when he knows I am or stays holed up in his room with the door locked on the off chance we’ll be there at the same time.

I know, because I knock and wait to see if he’ll talk to me. Every night, only to be ignored and walk away empty-handed.

That is, until tonight.

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