Page 13 of Atone

“Of course.” I grab the book and tuck it into my bag. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night, so I’m a little out of it. But I’ll get it to him.”

I lean forward so my dark hair curtains my cheeks as Professor Oro starts class. I try to focus on something—anything—other than Alex.

He’s off-limits.

A red flag.

A disaster.

There’s no point imagining something out of nothing.

Montgomery Psychiatric Ward is quieter today than it was yesterday.

When I give my name to the nurse at the front desk, I expect her to turn me away for not being family, but she waves me through without question, so Patience must have added me to the list.

I hold the book tight to my chest as I walk down the hallway. Unease stirs with every step.

It doesn’t feel right to be here without Patience. She’s his sister, and I’m little more than a stranger to him. Someone who moved to Bristal after he was already locked in this place. A random girl he’s forced to be around when it’s convenient for Patience. And after my thoughtlesscomment yesterday, he probably hopes he’ll never see me again.

Which makes it even more difficult to accept that I can’t stop thinking about his hazel eyes—those green rivers with flecks of gold. I can’t help sinking back into that moment when his stare met mine and the tension was so thick between us that words caught in my throat.

A lock of dark-blond hair fell over his forehead, and I wanted to know what it would be like to weave my fingers through it. To trace the path down his strong jawline, over the faint stubble. To skim the rippled scars on his neck and figure out what hurt him.

It’s a ridiculous thought.

Alex is a patient at Montgomery Psychiatric Ward. He’shealing. And not just physically, since his scars are unchanged, and his muscles are proof he uses his workout equipment regularly. But mentally, there must be so much to sift through. Trauma I can’t begin to imagine. Pain so deep he refuses to speak to anyone.

I pause outside his door and take a deep breath, hating that I changed my clothes and fixed my makeup before coming here. Like he cares who I am or what I look like.

With a forced smile plastered on my face, I turn the corner into Alex’s room, prepared to see him sitting on the bed or at the window like he usually is, reading or writing. One time, he was digging through his dresser and listening to music. But this time, he’s not doing any of those things.

Instead, he’s running at full speed on the treadmill in the corner.

Alex’s white T-shirt drips with sweat, revealing the thick lines of his shoulders and every crevice of his chest. He’s solid muscle, which shouldn’t surprise me since there’s not much to do at Montgomery but read and work out.

But to see it in action turns my tongue to sand.

With every stride, his thighs work, showing off the definition in his quads. Patience said her brother played basketball in high school, and with legs like his, I can see why. There’s not one inch of his body that isn’t sculpted.

Fuck, I’m in trouble.

It takes everything in me to steady my breathing and stop staring at him like a lovestruck groupie who’s been starved of touch. Especially now that I’ve caught his attention.

My throat is thick when I try to swallow. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

The smile I offer is so forced it hurts my cheeks. But I hope it at least hides the blood rushing to my face.

Lifting my chin, I school my features like I was trained to do since birth. Putting on a good show and maintaining appearances might as well be my superpower.

Alex’s expression doesn’t falter. His hazel eyes don’t leave mine as he hits a button on the treadmill to slow the speed. His focus stays on me until his strides become a slow walk, and when it finally stops, he pulls out his earbuds and steps off.

“Patience is busy prepping for a final with Violet, so she asked me to drop this off for you.” I hold up the book, and for some reason, it no longer feels like a good enough reason to be invading his space.

At least I manage to smooth the wobble in my voice as I walk into the room and set it on the nightstand.

Alex snags a towel off the treadmill and wipes it over his face. The motion tugs the hem of his T-shirt up just enough to show off the strong cut of muscle that trails below his low-hanging shorts.

Sweat drips down the veins in his neck, and my kneesare suddenly not as stable. It should be illegal for him to have this kind of effect without so much as a smile.

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