Page 68 of Second Sin

I shoot a glance around, heart climbing into my throat. “Not now.”

No one seems to be paying attention. Even Kane, standing just a few feet behind, turns away like he knows better than to eavesdrop.

Harper gives my arm a quick squeeze, then slips away toward the line of players.

But Sebastian stays rooted in front of me, jaw tight, that familiar tension vibrating off him like he’s holding back everything he really wants to say.

“There’s a way to make this work,” he says, voice low, urgent.

I shake my head, still not looking at him. “Please don’t do this here.”

“I talked to Kane.”

I freeze.

“Youwhat?”

“Not about…last night,” he says quickly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I just...I needed to know what our options are. What the fallout looks like. He’s been through stuff like this. Not the same, but...close enough.”

“And what, he gave you a game plan?” I whisper sharply. “Jesus, Sebastian.”

“I’m trying to fix this.”

“You can’t fix it,” I snap, voice barely above a whisper, teeth clenched. “This isn’t a bad press headline or a rough game. This ismy job.”

His shoulders rise with a breath he doesn’t quite release. He steps in closer—just enough for his voice to drop to a thread.

“I’m not trying to cost you anything. I just...I don’t want to pretend like this didn’t mean something.”

My pulse stutters.

“And what would that even look like?” I ask, swallowing hard. “Us sneaking around? Lying? Waiting for it to blow up in our faces?”

“I don’t know,” he says, eyes locked to mine. “But I’d rather try than walk away pretending it didn’t matter.”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy and thick.

Then the gate agent calls final boarding.

Sebastian doesn’t move.

He just stands there, hands fisted at his sides, chest rising and falling beneath that worn hoodie like he’s trying not to break apart.

His mouth stays shut, but his eyes—God, his eyes?—

They say everything he won’t. Everything he shouldn’t.

This isn’t over.

And God help me, I don’t want it to be.

CHAPTER 26

SEBASTIAN

The plane is quiet.

Not silent—there’s the low hum of engines, the rustle of jackets, the occasional sharp laugh from a few rows back—but the kind of quiet that stretches long and tight when you’re trying too hard to breathe like nothing’s wrong.

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