Page 67 of Second to None

“We’ll figure something out.” I felt cold all over as I slowly, haltingly, got up and stood next to the bed. “We can get the attention off her, keep the bigger places from running the story—legal action, she’s a kid?—”

“Stop. Just fuckingstop.” He paced to the window, morning light cutting across the tense line of his shoulders. “I can’t do this, Cass.”

“It’s not my fault.” I hated how defensive I sounded, glass shards in my lungs. “We didn’t know the camera was there. It’s just… bad luck.”

“Bad luck?” His voice cracked. “Your whole fucking existence is bad luck for me.Christ. Last time, you broke my heart. This time, you drag Emily into the headlines. You just never fucking change, do you?”

Wow. Okay, that just… thathurt. I inhaled, somehow tried to keep the bloodied mess of my chest and ribs together. “That’s not fair. I’m not the one who leaked it. I’ve been careful?—”

“Careful?” he snapped, turning like a whiplash, his eyes too wide. “Yeah, sure. Booking that restaurant, posing for pictures—oh, right, that just screams careful, doesn’t it? Well, hey, you wanted to speed it up. And we all know that Cass gets what Cass wants.”

“You said it was okay!” My eyes stung, bile sour at the back of my throat. “Youwere the one who suggested the dinner, the terrace thing and all. So don’t pin this all on me!”

He pushed into my space, so close I almost missed the tremble in his hands. “Keep Emily out of it—that’s the one thing I asked of you. The onefuckingthing.” His low voice shook just slightly. “I told you I’d help you pretend, let people think we’re… Didn’t matter how hard that was for me.”

My heart lurched like a capsized ship. “Spending time with me was hard?”

“Emily wasn’t supposed to be caught in this.” He sounded like he’d barely even heard me. “You and your bloody fame, you just—you said you’d protect her.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, helpless. “I didn’t know.”

He barked out another laugh, a little too high. “You never know, do you? That’s your fucking problem, right there. You show up, smile, promise me the world, promise it’ll all be fine—and when it goes to shit? You say sorry and move right the fuck on.”

“That’s not true.” Faint anger sparked along my spine, mixed with something like panic, loss, heartbreak. Who even knew. “I’ve tried to do it right this time. I’ve told you over and over again how sorry I am—youtold me to stop apologizing. And I’ve never moved on. I still want…”

You.I still want you.

“You’re a global superstar, Cass—just like you always wanted.” His voice rose, consonants razor-sharp. “Millions of fans who think you walk on water. What more could you possibly want?”

I stared at him, fractured thoughts like the twist of a kaleidoscope. “That’s what you think of me?”

“Give me a reason, Cass. Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t.”

Inches and continents separated us, half-naked in this room that I’d thought was ours, his bruises on my skin where he’d held on too tight last night. He wanted a reason? I took a step back and shook my head—not in denial but to clear it. Didn’t work. “I’m still in love with you,” I said quietly. “That’s my reason.”

Something dark crossed his face, like fleeting pain. Then he snorted, eyes cold. “Oh, come on. Five years, and I didn’t hear from you. Not aword. Not until you were ready to come out, and you needed a story and someone to write it with. Congrats, you got it.”

Was the ground shaking? I fought to steady my voice. “That’s not true, and you know it.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He took a deep breath and tipped up his chin, a strange, calm precision to his words. “You broke my heart once. I’m not stupid enough to fall for you again. It was sex, a bit of fun. You’re a good lay, but that’s it.”

No.

“I don’t believe you.” I almost choked on air, staggered back as if he’d slapped me. Thought about reminding him of... ofwhat? How he’d once told me I was the only boy he’d ever love? “You’re lying. I know you, Levi. I can see that you’re?—”

“Get the fuck out,” he interrupted me, an unfamiliar rasp in his voice. “I mean it.”

Pressure welled hot behind my eyes, and God, this was—it felt like that awful, final year of the band when we’d pushed and clawed at each other, words like knives. I wouldn’t sink that low again. “Please don’t do this.”

For the blink of an eye, something shifted in his stance—a faint give, an opening, as though he intended to reach for me. My heart was trying to hammer its way out of my chest.

Then he took a sudden step back. His shoulders stiffened, voice crisp and clean. “Get out, Cass. We’re done.”

So. This was how it felt to finally grow up.

I clenched my teeth against the feverish prick of tears, turned, and grabbed my clothes from the floor—jeans, shirt. Dressed in numb silence, fingers shaking just the slightest bit. All the while, he watched in stoic silence, not a muscle moving in his face, the only difference to a statue in the rise and fall of his chest.

Wallet. Phone.

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