Page 168 of His To Erase
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and whisper, “I just want to feel normal. I want to feel safe for five goddamn minutes.”
That’s when I hear it—a twig snapping behind me. I spin so fast my heart lodges in my throat. But I already know who it is. Steven steps out of the shadows like he’s been there the whole time—watching, listening. His shirt’s still off, and his eyes are locked on me like I’m both a threat and a tragedy he already fucking owns.
“You done?”
His voice is pure gravel—low and rough, dragging across my skin like it knows exactly where to hurt. A shiver rips down my spine and goosebumps flash across my arms, heat chasing them like static.
“Not even fucking close.”
“Little late for a nature walk, don’t you think?”
I glare at him, the adrenaline and fury in my chest coils tighter—like a fuse begging for a match.
“Move.”
He doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head, narrowing his eyes like he’s taking inventory of all the ways I’m coming undone.
“You planning to hike through the woods with just a hoodie and your trauma?”
My teeth clench. “Don’t start with me right now.”
His mouth twitches. “Do you always run when someone gets too close?”
My whole body stills. Not just from the words—but the way he says them. Like he’s already dissected me and left the bones on the table.
I laugh. “No,” I say, keeping my voice tight. “Sometimes I wait until they break something first.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides and I hate how he gets under my skin without even trying. I fucking hate how my breath comes too fast, and my chest won’t stop fucking heaving like I’m being chased.
I swallow hard and add, “Don’t pretend like you haven’t spent the last twenty-four hours proving I was right.”
His eyes flick to the treeline, then back to me—unbothered. “I heard you,” he says quietly. “Back there.”
My stomach tightens and I stiffen. “Eavesdropping now? That your thing?”
“I don’t need to eavesdrop when you’re screaming at ghosts in the dark.”
He takes another step, but I hold my ground. Only, it’s harder now, with him this close—his body is all heat and shadows, but the scent of him is sharp against the cold air.
“You said something about playing house with a psychopath,” he murmurs. “That supposed to be me?”
I lift my chin. “If the boot fits.”
Another half-step and he’s lowering his voice like it’s a secret between us. “Or were you talking about the one you’re really running from?”
My breath catches—just for a second—but it’s enough. His eyes narrow, and his voice drops, quieter this time.
“You think I don’t recognize it? That look in your eye when things get too close?” He stops in front of me. “I used to sleep with a gun under my pillow. Not because I was scared someone would come for me—but because I didn’t trust myself not to get there first.”
His gaze doesn’t soften. If anything, it cuts deeper. “So don’t talk to me about shutting down. I know what it’s like to live in survival mode so long, peace starts to feel like a setup.”
Something shifts in my chest. Maybe it’s nothing, but maybe it’s everything.
“You didn’t bring your bag.” His voice dips lower. “If you were really running… you wouldn’t have left your shit in the house.”
My throat tightens. “Maybe I wasn’t thinking.”
“No.” He stops in front of me again, eyes pinned to mine like he’s already dismantled the lie. “You were thinking too much. That’s the problem.”
