Page 197 of Catch Me
He reached for my hand, surprising me. “I just mean that this isn’t simple, you know? We need to talk about things.”
“Fair. I just... I’ve been thinking about this. Us. A lot.”
“Yeah?” He set the glass down, and his fingers lingered on it. “What about it?”
“Everything.” My voice cracked, and I hated it. “How I fucked up. How I ran. How I—” I stopped, my throat too tight, and looked down at the table. “How I don’t deserve you inviting me out tonight.”
He didn’t say anything for a beat. He just stared at me like he was trying to figure out if I was full of shit. Then he leaned forward, settling his elbows on the table. His voice was low as he gripped my fingers. “Maybe it was a stupid idea. But I did it anyway. ”
I met his gaze, and there it was—anger, yes, but something softer too, buried deep. It made my chest ache, like I’d been holding my breath for months and didn’t know it.
“Maybe I should’ve done it back then,” he added.
“Done what?”
“Chased you.”
My heart stuttered. “I never expected you to.”
Now, I wondered if it would’ve made a difference. It didn’t matter, though. I wasn’t ready then, and we just had to choose what would happen next.
The waitress returned, and we ordered quickly. When she left, I pulled my tablet onto the table, navigating to a blank page. My pen hovered, itching to move.
“You gonna draw me?” Travis asked, raising one eyebrow. There was something close to a smile on his face.
“Maybe.” I smiled, sketching a few quick lines, followed by the curve of his jaw. “You’re a good subject.”
He snorted, leaning back. “Flattery’s not gonna win me over, you know.”
“I know.” I kept drawing, rough strokes filling in his profile. “But it’s true.”
He watched me silently for a minute, then shook his head. “You’re impossible.”
“It’s part of my charm,” I said, glancing up. Our eyes locked, and for a second, it felt like before. Before I bolted, before I’d broken his trustand sent us hurtling away from each other. Then he looked away, and the moment shattered.
Chapter 65
Travis
I shouldn’t have come here. That was the thought looping in my head as I sat there, watching Roman sketch like it was the only thing keeping him sane. His hand moved fast, and I hated how familiar it felt, how it dragged me back to those weeks at my house with him sprawled on my couch with Tessa, drawing me without caring that I was watching.
The restaurant was quiet, just the hum of the music overhead and clinking glasses as they washed them in the back, but it felt loud in my head. I told him I wanted to take him to dinner, and I meant it. But sitting here, with him staring at me like I was some lifeline, I wasn’t sure I could really trust him. Not yet.
He’d hurt me. Nine days of silence, no calls, no texts. Just gone. And now he was back, all rough edges and shaky apologies, like that could erase it. I wanted to believe him, wanted to let myself fall into this again, but every time I got close, I saw that empty driveway, heard the quiet after he’d left.
“You’re staring,” he said, not looking up from his sketch.
“Am I?” I took a sip of water, forcing my eyes to the window. The fairy lights outside blurred into streaks, and I wondered if he’d draw them too, turn this into some pretty picture one of us couldn’t live up to.
“Yeah.” He set the stylus down, sliding the tablet toward me. “What do you think?”
I glanced at the rough sketch. He’d caught the tension, the way I held myself like I might bolt at any second.
“Looks like I’m pissed,” I said, pushing it back.
He leaned forward. “Talk to me, Travis. Please.”
I clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening on the glass. “What do you want me to say? That I’m fine? That this”—I gestured between us—“doesn’t scare the shit out of me?”
