Page 82 of Hellbent
“You said it’s not gonna work. What else could that possibly mean?”
“I mean you and me, fighting. Can we find a tentative fucking peace, please?”
“I can’t believe you’re blaming me for this too. You started it!”
“Istarted it?” His voice spikes, incredulous. Then he exhales, eyes closing for a second. When he opens them, he lets go of my arm—and, against all reason, I miss the heat of his touch.
“That’s not how I see it,” he says. “Look—” He drags a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to talk to you when I’m this fucking wound up. And I always seem to be wound up around you.”
I open my mouth, ready to bite, but he cuts me off.
“It’s not you—” He stops. His jaw clenches. “It is you. But not how you think.”
I stare at him. Heart hammering. “You don’t have to say it, Ryder. I know I don’t fit.”
His brow tics. “That’s not true.”
“You’ve been treating me like a complication since day one.”
“You are,” he says, the words rough. Honest. “You’re a fucking complication. A distraction. A problem I don’t know how to solve.” A pause. “But I don’t want you to leave, okay?”
My jaw tightens. “Well, you have a funny way of showing it. Saying I don’t care who I spread my legs for? Fuck you for that.”
“I believe you said essentially the same thing about me.”
The way he throws it back at me makes my blood flare again. “No—youdid. You’re the one who said that about yourself.”
He steps in, hands wrapping around both my arms. Firm. Tight. And suddenly, I’m too aware of how close we are. The heat of him. The gravity.
“Maxwell,” he rasps. Then, gentler, “Max. Slow down. Let’s…just start over.”
“You owe me an apology.”
“You’re right.” A beat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I was pissed. Doesn’t make it okay.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
He exhales—long and strained. Closes his eyes. “Okay. Okay.” And then he looks at me. Really looks. “I don’t get a say in who you’re with. I know that.” His voice drops lower. “But I don’t want you to leave.”
My head lifts. We just…stare.
Then: “Maybe I’m just jealous,” he says, voice thick.
The words slam into me like a hurricane.
The air disappears. No more cicadas. No sun on my skin. The world drops away.
All I can feel is the rise and fall of his chest. All I can hear is my own heartbeat.
The tension crackles. I feel it.
Did he just say that?
My lips part, but I can’t speak.
His eyes flicker over my face—my mouth, my throat, my mouth again—and when they lift to meet mine, something breaks open between us.
Heat.
