Chapter 19: The Edge of Control
Anna
I never meant to stay this long.
I told myself I'd have one drink, laugh politely, go home before anything complicated could happen.
But Mason had a way of making everyone feel like the party was just starting. He dragged the whole team to a bar a few blocks from Cavendish & Blake a rooftop place with fairy lights, a skyline view, and music loud enough to drown out the thoughts I didn't want to hear.
Like the memory of Kelvin's voice in the copy room yesterday.
Like the way my body still remembered the feel of his breath against my skin.
Like the truth I hadn't said out loud since I came home:
I still wanted him.
I stood at the edge of the rooftop, clutching a half-finished drink, trying to convince myself I was fine.
And then I felt it again.
That shift in air. The static. The quiet burn crawling up my spine.
I turned.
Kelvin
He shouldn't have been there. He wasn't invited. No one had seen him arrive.
But there he was leaning against the rail not far from me, drink in hand, black button-down sleeves rolled up, his eyes fixed only on me.
He didn't smile.
He just watched.
And I hated how badly I wanted to go to him. How much I needed to feel whatever had flickered between us all week, bursting at the seams.
I looked away. Pretended to laugh at something someone said. Pretended my heart wasn't a live wire in my chest.
But I could feel him behind me.
He didn't speak until the others wandered away.
"Nice view," he said quietly, stepping beside me.
My throat tightened. "I didn't know you were coming."
"I wasn't going to," he said. "But I figured you'd be here. Hiding in plain sight."
"I'm not hiding."
He looked at me then, close enough to brush shoulders. "You've been hiding since you came back."
I met his gaze, and it burned.
"I'm trying to survive this week without exploding," I said. "Is that a crime?"
He leaned in, his voice low and tight. "What we had wasn't a crime. But what we're doing now pretending is."
My breath hitched.
"Don't," I whispered.
"Don't what?"
"Don't talk like that. Like it still matters."
He stepped closer. "It does matter."
"Kelvin"
"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, voice rough. "Say the word. I'll go."
I couldn't say it.
God, I couldn't.
Because he was standing so close, and the air between us was pulsing, electric. My hand brushed his by accident or maybe on purpose and I didn't pull away.
Neither did he.
I looked up.
His eyes were fierce. Wounded. Hungry.
And then he kissed me.
There was no warning. No hesitating.
Just his mouth crashing into mine like something primal and lost and desperate. His hand cupped the back of my neck, drawing me closer, and I broke utterly and completely.
I kissed him back with everything I had.
With five years of silence.
With every second I'd spent pretending he didn't matter.
With every ache I'd buried beneath degrees and cities and another man's name.
He groaned into my mouth like he'd been starving for this. His other hand gripped my waist, pulled me flush against him, and I melted absolutely and without shame.
My hands tangled in his shirt, fists clenched, body trembling.
This wasn't just a kiss.
It was a confession.
A surrender.
A thousand I'm sorrys and I still want yous rolled into one impossible moment.
When we finally pulled apart, breathless, the world felt like it had gone still.
Kelvin looked at me like he didn't care about consequences anymore.
"Tell me I imagined that," he rasped.
I couldn't.
Because for the first time in years I finally felt alive.
And that terrified me more than anything else.