Page 16 of Second Sin

Kane huffs a laugh, but it’s as uncertain as I feel. “You alright, though?”

“Been worse.” Her voice lifts, light enough to pass for a joke. But when she tries to smile wider, it pulls at the cut on her lip. She flinches and presses her hand to it. “I’m heading home. Taking a few days off. I’ll be back when I don’t look like Quasimodo.”

Kane actually laughs at that. And it crawls under my skin. There’s nothing funny about her standing there bruised and pretending it’s fine.

"Get some rest," Kane offers.

"Thanks." She glances at me—quick, unreadable—and then turns to leave.

And I can’t let her go. Not yet.

“Wait.” I reach out, my fingers wrapping around her wrist, light, but deliberate. Just enough to make her still.

She freezes.

Then slowly, her eyes lift to mine.

Everything around us fades. The hallway noise, Kane shifting beside me, the faint hum of skate sharpeners echoing from the equipment room. All of it drops away.

Her pulse is quick under my fingers. Or maybe it’s mine.

And hell if I don’t want to pull her in—wrap her up and shield her from whatever the fuck did this.

I search for something to say. Some string of words that’ll make it better. Make it right.

But nothing comes.

Just the weight of her pain sitting in my chest like it belongs to me.

I want to fix it. Take it from her. Break whatever put it there. But I can't even string a few comforting words together.

"If you need..." My thumb moves over the inside of her wrist—slow, steady.I don’t even realize I’m doing it, until I feel her pulse quicken. I stop, shake my head. "Fuck, I don’t know." The words scrape out of me. "If you need anything..."

She blinks, takes a breath that falters just slightly. "Thanks."

For a second, she pauses like she wants to say more. Like maybe sheneedsto. But all she does is pull her hand free—gentle, trembling—and step back.

Whatever I just did...maybe I made it worse.

She doesn’t look at me again, just nods at Kane.“I’ll see both you next week."

And then she’s gone.

I watch her walk away—busted lip, missing ring, the shape of her name still caught in my throat. I fucking hate that I can’t do anything about it. Not without crossing a line I’ve already started leaning over.

Kane’s still standing beside me. I can feel him watching me, probably trying to figure out why the hell I’m acting like this is personal. Maybe because it is.

After a beat, he mutters, “What the fuck was that?”

I don’t answer.

I just stand there, fists clenched at my sides, heart pounding like it’s trying to break out of my ribs.

And fuck if I don’t want to break someone’s face for it.

CHAPTER 7

OLIVIA

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