Page 33 of Riot

“That’s beautiful.” There’s an intensity in his eyes as he studies me. “Motherhood looks good on you, Ivy.”

My cheeks burn at the compliment, and suddenly, I’m twelve years old, desperate he’ll notice me.

I spent my teens trailing him like an adoring puppy, but he always dated older girls or my friends, but never me. That was how I ended up with Link. I was tired of chasing a boy who didn’t want me, and when Link showed an interest, I fell hard.

I snap my gaze to where Jackson’s fingers curl around my bicep without warning. My skin freezes, crawling under his touch.

Bile coats my throat.Shake him off.

Stop.

I turn to the pram, an excuse to get him off me. My gut unclenches as his fingers drop away. “I haven’t slept a full night since she was born.”

Why did I say that? Seren isn’t the only reason for my sleep deprivation.

“Well, even without sleeping, you look amazing.”

My lungs feel too tight, my head fuzzy.

Please leave me alone.

I force a smile. “I look like I had a baby two months ago.”

“No, seriously, you look fantastic.” I duck my head, not embarrassed but uncomfortable. The awkward silence stretches between us before he says, “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You didn’t.”You did. Change the subject.“What have you been doing since I last saw you?”

“I’m working for my dad now. I wanted to go to university, but the family businessneededme.” He doesn’t hide his bitterness.

“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it. I know how it feels to have your education ripped from you. I barely completed school because of Link.

He shrugs. “It’s not totally shit working for my father, and I guess one day the company will be mine, but it’s…”

“Not what you wanted to do?” I finish for him.

That fucking grin appears again. “Something like that.”

He leans back, his thigh brushing mine. It takes everything in me to not recoil.

He’s not going to hurt me.

Unaware of my internal battle, Jackson’s head tilts to the side and he takes me in as if memorising every part of my face. “I’m just on a break and I have to get back to work, but I want to continue this conversation. Let me take you to dinner.”

Two years ago, those words would have been everything, but now?

I don’t want to, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings either.

“Jackson… that’s… that’s really kind of you, but?—”

“It’s just dinner,” he interjects, trying to ward off the rejection he knows is coming. “It’s been so long since we last hung out, and it would be cool to trade stories.”

I don’t think it would. My stories are dark and filled with terror.

A shadow falls over us, blocking out the sun behind, and we both turn towards it.

Riot’s standing in front of us, mouth tight, his arms folded over his broad chest, a wall between me and the world. There’s no sign of his phone or the easy demeanour I’ve come to know so well.

He scans Jackson as if he’s something he scraped off his boot.

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