Page 169 of The Wrong Play

Jace’s breath came hard and fast, his entire body coiled tight, like a storm seconds away from unleashing its fury.

I pressed my hands to my face, my voice barely above a whisper. “I thought if I left, if I walked away, you’d be safe. I thought—” My voice cracked, and I dropped my hands, looking into his eyes. “I thought if you knew the truth, if you knew what I‘d done, you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

That did it.

Jace moved.

One second he was gripping the bench, and the next, his hands were on my face, tilting my chin up, his fingers sliding into my hair, his forehead pressing against mine as he exhaled hard. “Say it again,” he whispered.

I blinked, my breath stuttering. “Jace?—”

“Say itagain,” he growled in a raw, shaking voice. “Tell me you really believe I’d walk away from you because ofhim.”

I swallowed, tears slipping down my cheeks. “I?—”

“Riley.” His grip tightened, his thumb stroking my cheek with devastating tenderness. “You never belonged to him. You hear me?” His voice was rough, desperate. “Never.”

I let out a shaky breath, holding my palms to his chest. His heart was slamming against my hands, just as wild as my own.

His forehead pressed harder against mine. “You belong with me.”

A sob clawed its way up my throat. “I was scared,” I whispered. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Jace let out a shuddering breath. “You don’t run from me, Riley. Ever.” His hands slid down, gripping my shoulders, hisvoice shaking with restraint. “If you think for one second that I’deverlet you go because of what he did to you, then you don’t know me at all. I’m not worried about that sick bastard.”

Tears spilled faster as I clutched at his hoodie.

“I would burn the world down before I let him take you from me,” he whispered, his eyes burning as he stared at me. “Burn it all down.”

My breath hitched. “I can’t—I can’t let him touch you. I love you too much.”

He swore and pulled me into his chest, and I sobbed against him, a strange relief flooding my veins because he knew. He knew…and he was still here.

The second my breath steadied, the second my sobs had quieted, he pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. His grip was firm, his touch warm, grounding. His brown eyes gleamed with something fierce, something unshakable.

“We’re going home,” he said, in a voice so resolute, there was no chance of me arguing.

I barely had a second to process before his arms were under my legs, lifting me effortlessly off the cold metal bench. I let out a startled breath, my arms instinctively looping around his neck as he cradled me against his chest.

“Jace,” I mumbled, feeling my face heat.

“Don’t even start, Riley-girl.” His voice was firm but gentle, the sound of it smoothing over the raw edges inside me. “You’re done running.”

The world blurred as he carried me toward the Jeep, my head tucked against his shoulder. The smell of rain lingered on his hoodie, mixing with the warmth of his skin, and for the first time in hours—maybe days—I let myself relax.

He pulled open the door and set me down on the passenger seat like I weighed nothing, his hands lingering on my waistfor a second before he pulled the seatbelt over me. His fingers brushed my collarbone as he clicked it into place.

“Stay put.”

Like I was going to try and escape again.

Jace shut the door and jogged around the front of the Jeep. As he slid behind the wheel, the bus pulled up in the distance, headlights flashing against the dark, tires hissing against wet pavement. I swallowed hard, watching as the doors opened, waiting for a passenger that now wouldn’t be me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, inhaling deeply.I hope I made the right decision.

Jace’s hand slid over mine, threading our fingers together. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. He just held on, his thumb brushing against my knuckles, a silent promise in the way he refused to let go.

The Jeep rumbled to life, and he pulled away from the curb, driving us back toward campus. The streetlights flickered by in golden streaks, the hum of the engine a steady pulse in the silence.

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