Page 70 of Second Sin

He’s talking to Kane and Blake, their voices weaving in and out of the air behind me. Hockey talk. Something about Slade’s power play last game. Kane mentions his kid’s skating lessons. Blake laughs. It should all feel normal.

But it doesn’t. Not with him there.

Not when my pulse won’t settle. Not when every breath feels like it scrapes against my ribs.

I haven’t looked at him since we landed.

I can’t.

Because I don’t know how to exist near him without unraveling—and I’ve spent too long keeping it all tight. Professional. Grief-stricken. Walled-up and unreachable. The version of me that doesn’tneed. That doesn’twant.

But this...whatever’s happening inside me, it’s not just about Sebastian.

It’s not just about the job, or the sex, or the way he looked at me last night like he was falling as hard as I am.

It’s all of it, and so much more.

I haven’t even thought about Ethan. Not really. Not since?—

God.

I can't even remember.

I used to need that pain like armor. Like proof of how much I loved. How much I lost. I wore it like a second skin so no one would ever expect me to move on.

But now I’m moving. And it feels like I’m doing it wrong. Like I should still be drowning in it.

I push through the exit doors and the cold slams into me.

Sharp wind, sharp breath. My eyes sting. Could be the air. Could be something else entirely.

I pull out my phone with trembling fingers, tap into the rideshare app, fumble through the screen.

“Olivia.”

Sebastian's voice is quiet. Close.

I don’t look up until I feel his hand at my elbow—gentle, grounding. He guides me a few steps to the side, out of the crowd, behind a column near the pickup loop.

My chest caves in at the contact.

“What do you need?” he asks. “Just ask, and I’ll do it.”

I shake my head. My throat’s thick. “Just...space, Sebastian.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t argue.

Just presses something into my hand. His fingers curl mine around it—warm and rough and careful.

A folded note.

Even this—this small gesture—is too much right now.

I let out a shaky breath and meet his eyes. “I’m handing in my resignation tomorrow.”

He goes still.

No words. No protest. But his nostrils flare, and that muscle in his jaw ticks like he’s grinding his own restraint down to the bone.

---