Page 24 of Escape

“So,” she begins, her tone a little too light. “About last night...”

The shift is immediate, and my chest tightens. I sit up slightly, watching her carefully. “Yeah?”

She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip. “I think we should... not do that again.”

Her words land like a punch to the gut, but I keep my expression neutral, not wanting her to see the crack it’s left.

“Not do that again,” I repeat, trying to sound casual.

She nods, still not looking at me. “Yeah. I mean, it was... it was nice. Really nice. But we’ve got a good thing going, you know? And I don’t want to mess it up.”

My hand tightens around the edge of the blanket, but I force a smile. “Right. Yeah, I get it.”

She glances at me then, her expression softening with relief. “You do?”

“Of course,” I say, even though it feels like lying. “I mean, you’re right. We’ve got a good thing, and I wouldn’t want to ruin that either.”

She smiles, leaning over to press a quick kiss to my cheek. “Thanks, Owen. I knew you’d understand.”

I nod, my chest aching as I watch her slip out of bed and gather her clothes. She moves quickly, efficiently, like she’s trying to avoid lingering too long.

The bathroom door closes softly behind her, and the room feels emptier, colder.

I flop back onto the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. The words echo in my head, relentless and sharp.Not do that again. Don’t mess it up.

But last night wasn’t a mistake. Not for me.

The truth crashes over me like a wave, leaving no room for denial: I’m in love with her. I’ve been in love with her for a long time, longer than I ever wanted to admit. And last night was everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I didn’t dare hope for.

But if she needs to pretend it didn’t happen, if that’s what keeps her feeling safe, then I’ll do it. I’ll give her whatever she needs, even if it means swallowing the words that are clawing at my throat.

Because loving her means putting her first. Even when it hurts.

Chapter 10

Mel

The morning air isbrisk, cutting through my coat as I walk along the pavement, dodging the occasional jogger or parent pushing a pram. The city buzzes around me, cars rushing by, people chatting as they pass, but it all feels distant… muted.

I pull my coat tighter around me, fumbling with the buttons as my thoughts churn. Last night keeps playing in my head, over and over, no matter how much I try to shove it aside.

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

With the others, it’s easy. A few drinks, some flirting, a messy tumble into bed, and then I can compartmentalise it, pack it away like it doesn’t matter. Because it doesn’t. Those nights don’t mean anything.

But last night was different.

I shift the strap of my bag on my shoulder, my feet moving on autopilot toward the therapist’s office. My chest feels tight, like I’m carrying something too big, too unwieldy. No matter how much I try to ignore it, the weight won’t go away.

It wasn’t just the kiss. Or the way Owen’s hands felt on me, steady and warm, like I could fall apart in front of him, and he’d still hold me together. It wasn’t even the way he looked at me afterward, like I was the only person in the world who mattered.

It’s how I felt.

I let out a shaky breath, glancing at the street signs to make sure I’m still headed in the right direction. My heart thuds dully in my chest, the rhythm uneven, off-kilter.

With Owen, it wasn’t just about the moment. It wasn’t just physical.

It meant something. And that terrifies me.

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