She leans in, breaking the tense silence. “I like your scruff, Hotshot.” “Is that what we’re talking about, my scruff? How about your face?” She flinches. “What about it, Davis?” “Tell me what happened, Koty.” “It doesn’t matter,” she whispers, her gaze skating away from me. “You’re here now. I got out. I’m safe.” “It fucking matters,” I growl. “A whole hell of a lot.” She waves her hand up her body, stopping at her face. “What do you think?” Bitterness stains her husky voice. “I lived right. I loved wrong. End of fucking story.”
