Page 41 of The Assist
Sophie gives me a long, knowing look. “Then maybe you’ve got to start asking yourself what you’re more afraid of; being hurt or never giving it a chance.”
I tip my head back against the sofa, blinking up at the ceiling. “How are you always right?”
She grins. “It’s my cross to bear.”
We lapse into comfortable silence for a while. The movie plays quietly in the background, but neither of us is really watching. I keep thinking about that moment in the treatment room; the almost-kiss. The heat in his eyes, the way his hand brushed mine like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed butneededto touch me anyway.
My chest tightens at the memory. There’s a part of me that wanted him to close the distance. To push past the line. But I didn’t stop him because I didn’t want it, I stopped him because if we start, I don’t know how tonotfall all the way.
And then what? What happens when my dad gets worse and I have to go home more often? When the job pulls me in a hundred directions and I can’t be what he needs? When the reality of our lives doesn’t fit the fantasy?
I glance over at Sophie. She’s scrolling through her phone now, humming under her breath.
“Do you think it’s selfish to want something you’re not sure you can keep?” I ask.
She doesn’t even look up. “I think it’s human.”
That lands like a stone in my gut.
I’ve spent so much time trying to be the version of myself that’s unshakeable, professional, and respected. The Mia who doesn’t cry at work, who doesn’t lose her grip, who doesn’t let someone like Dylan Winters get under her skin. But maybe that Mia is just an armour I wear. Maybe the real me is the one who wants something more; something messy, complicated, andreal.
The kind of more that terrifies me.
The kind Dylan might actually be capable of, if I let him.
Sophie finally sets her phone down and nudges me. “Youdon’t have to decide tonight, you know. But don’t wait too long. Life has a way of moving without your permission.”
I nod slowly, absorbing the truth of that.
She changes the subject after that and talks about her latest disaster date, her boss’s obsession with motivational mugs, and how she’s considering adopting a third cat. I let her carry the conversation, grateful for the levity, for the momentary reprieve from the chaos in my head. But when she leaves later that night, when the door clicks shut and the flat falls silent, the truth she helped me uncover doesn’t leave.
It stays. It settles into the quiet like it belongs there.
I curl up on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, my heart heavy with things unsaid.
I want him.
But I’m still not sure I’m allowed to.
CHAPTER TWENTY
DYLAN
The Chinese takeaway box on my counter is still half-full, going cold.
I should eat. I should shower. I should do literally anything else but sit on the edge of my sofa, staring blankly at the muted TV screen while every cell in my body replays that almost-kiss in the treatment room like it’s the championship-winning goal on repeat.
We wereright there.
If Danny hadn’t barged in, if I’d leaned in half a second sooner, if she hadn’t looked at me like she was ready to let it happen. But she didn’t. And I didn’t.
And now I’m stuck here with a stomach that feels like it’s chewing on itself and a head that won’t shut the hell up. The frustration is real.
The knock at the door startles me out of the loop. I ignore it at first, but then the knock comes again; louder this time, followed by the unmistakablethud-thud-clinkof someone juggling a six-pack.
I drag myself up and open the door to find Murphy standing there like it’s a damn sitcom entrance. He’s grinning like the Chesire cat, with his hoodie slung low over his head, a bag of greasy takeaway in one hand and beer in the other.
“Jesus, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says, pushing past me. “Or worse, your own feelings.”
