Stevie-Lou’s POV.

I couldn’t go back to sleep.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, Smith’s scent still clinging to the sheets, my body still humming from the memory of his touch, but my chest was tight. Too tight. Like my lungs had forgotten how to do their job.

God, what the hell was I doing?

Every second he was gone felt like a countdown ticking toward disaster. I kept hearing his voice...“I’d rather be here.” His smile. The way he looked at me like I was his home. Like I was his peace. And I was about to blow it all up.

I pulled the sheets tighter around me...