Page 12 of Gathered Sparkle

Koen leans back to look at me, making me sit straight up again. “Why don’t you think he’ll come after you?”

“He was hurt,” I whisper, thinking about Nicholas’s forest-green eyes. “Hurt so badly. And he just told me to go. I don’t think he’ll come after us at all. I think I’ve made him shut himself off even more.”

He’ll close down, and maybe that’s worse.

He’ll never trust anyone again.

Fuck. I’m so sorry, Nico.

“Yeah, he has a tendency to do that,” Koen says quietly, a trace of sadness passing over his face.

I glance up at him, my eyes searching his. “You said you guys were best friends once.”

“Yeah. We were…” he pauses, nodding, his gaze shifting away from mine for a moment. “Before he hurt my twin.”

“I understand that must have been a hell of a fuck up…” I bite my lip, “… but are you sure Nicholas is the bad guy here?”

Koen’s eyes snap back to me, a flicker of suspicion flashing across his expression. He studies me, the silence stretching between us before he finally speaks. “You like him.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

“Well, he was only nice to me.” I shrug slightly. “Of course, I kind of like him.”

“No. Youlikehim.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Koen raises his hand. “You know what? I think we should find out for sure.”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

Koen’s fingers glide across my wrist. It’s a fleeting touch of warmth before he taps my forehead.

“Sleep.”

Motherfucker.

My eyes slide shut as my head tips forward, coming to rest against his shoulder. The world around me fades, shrinking until there’s nothing left but the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath my cheek.

Everything inside me stills.

Even my heart slows.

“You feel safe,” Koen murmurs, a smooth thread that winds around my mind. “Relaxed, like you’re dreaming.” His fingersslide through my hair, each stroke drawing me further under. “Everything that leaves your pretty mouth will be the truth.”

He doesn’t wake me, doesn’t pull me back. He keeps me there, suspended in this place where my thoughts are fluid and transparent.

“Do you like Nicholas Harrington?”

“Yes,” I whisper on a breath. “I like him.”

Unlike the last time he did this truth thing to me at Euphoria, in this state, there’s no moment to catch my breath, no chance to gather my thoughts or decide to keep my answers vague. The answer unfurls from my lips before I can shape it.

“How much?”

“I think I have a crush on him. But nothing can ever come from that.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I care about you guys. A lot.”

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