Page 23 of Rose
Kiyan stayed where he was, brows drawing in slightly.
“You seem off today. You good?”
His voice was softer this time. No flirt, no charm. Just concern.
He wasn’t wrong.
He saw it in the way she zoned out mid-ink, the way her eyes shimmered with tears she wouldn’t let fall.
“I’m fine. Just tired. So I’d appreciate if you left so I can lock up and go home.”
The calm in her voice barely masked the exhaustion, the razor-thin restraint beneath it.
But Kiyan didn’t move. He stepped a little closer, his voice low, smooth.
“Come home with me. Let me make you feel better.”
Her mug was instant, sharp enough to cut.
He laughed softly, not surprised, but when she didn’t respond, when the silence stretched too long, something hopeful sparked in his chest.
She thought about it.
She hadn’t touched release in weeks. Hadn’t feltanythingbut grief and guilt and silence pressing in on her chest.
After today—the gravesite, the tears, the memories clawing at her ribs—she didn’t want to feel pain. She wanted to be consumed.
“First off—eww. You don’t hold that much power.”
Flat. Dry. But it wasn’t a no.
Kiyan smirked, tilting his head.
“Then let me try.”
She rolled her eyes, exhaling like she hated herself for even considering it.
“I’ll be there later. I need to lock up and go home to change.”
Kiyan grinned like she’d handed him the world.
“Front door’ll be unlocked.”
She paused, cutting him a side-eye.
“Your baby mama done with the pop-ups?”
The last time she walked out his place, drama was waiting in the driveway. His baby mama, mid-meltdown, kid in tow, ready to set the whole street on fire.
“I handled that,” Kiyan said quickly, grabbing his keys with a little too much confidence.
“You got one hour.”
She didn’t even look at him when she said it.
That was all he was getting.
Kiyan nodded, knowing better than to ask for more.
