I Can't Lose You
HARDIN’S POV
“Ariana, please,” I said, my voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “Talk to me.”
She looked away, her jaw clenched. Her body was still close, but something about her felt like it was slipping away, just beyond my reach. Her hands trembled, and I hated that I couldn’t stop it.
“I’m fine,” she said too quickly. Too sharply.
It wasn’t convincing.
I stepped closer, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You’re my girlfriend,” I murmured. “I know when something’s wrong with you. I can feel it.”
She flinched. Not from my touch—never that. From the truth in my voice.
Still, she didn’t answer. Her eyes darted to the pavement, her lips parting like she wanted to say something but swallowed it back down.
I exhaled through my nose, trying to hold onto my patience. “Baby, come on. Don’t shut me out.”
“It’s nothing!” she snapped, and I blinked.
The word cracked through the air like a whip, sharp and unexpected.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her breath coming faster. “It’s nothing, Hardin. Okay? Just drop it.”
I stepped back half an inch, stunned—not because I was mad, but because ever since we started dating I had never heard her raise her voice at me like that.
Never.
She must’ve heard it too, because the fire in her eyes fizzled almost instantly. Her chest rose and fell, her lips trembling now for an entirely different reason.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—God, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
She surged toward me, wrapping her arms around my waist so tightly it almost hurt. Her face pressed into my chest, muffling a broken, shaky breath. I held her instantly, without hesitation, pulling her in so close I hoped she could feel the way my heart beat for her.
“I’m not mad,” I said softly, kissing the top of her head. “You must be exhausted.”
She nodded against me, her grip tightening. “I am. I just… I don’t want to think. I don’t want to talk. Can we just—can we go to your place?”
My heart ached. Whatever this was, it was eating her from the inside out. I could feel it.
But I just nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”
She lifted her head, and I kissed her nose, brushing a thumb across her cheek. Her eyes were glassy, like she was fighting off tears she didn’t want me to see.
“I’ll drive,” I murmured. “Come on.”
I opened the car door for her, helping her in and strapping her seatbelt like she was something fragile, something breakable. She watched me the whole time like she didn’t know how to let go of whatever weight she was carrying.
I got behind the wheel and started the engine.
The entire drive was silent.
Not cold. Just… quiet.
I didn’t ask her anything. Didn’t push. She looked like she was barely holding herself together, and the last thing I wanted was to add pressure to whatever war she was fighting inside.
Every few minutes, I glanced over at her.
She was staring out the window, her fingers curled into the hem of her skirt, her foot tapping anxiously against the car floor. Her mouth opened once—then closed again. I said nothing.
By the time we reached the parking garage beneath the building, the silence had thickened into something I could almost taste.
She waited for me to come around to her side before stepping out. Her hand slipped into mine without a word, and I held it tightly, like maybe that would ground her somehow.
We rode the elevator up to my penthouse.
She leaned her head against my shoulder, and I kissed her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. I wanted to ask. I needed to ask.
But instead, I stayed quiet.
When we got inside, I kicked off my shoes and tugged her toward the bed. The lights were low, the city glowing outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. The air between us buzzed, a cocktail of tension, love, and unspoken words.
I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her between my legs.
She stood there, looking down at me, her eyes hollowed out by whatever she was hiding.
I pressed a kiss to her stomach through her blouse.
Then her hip.
Then her hand.
“You don’t have to say anything tonight,” I murmured, “but I want to take care of you.”
She nodded slowly, her throat working like she was swallowing glass.
I stood and gave her a soft smile. “Let me run a bath for you. I’ll be right back.”
She didn’t speak. Just sat down where I’d been and watched me walk away like I was the only thing tethering her to this moment.
The second I stepped into the bathroom, my hands moved on instinct—turning on the taps, checking the water temperature, pouring in the lavender oil I knew she liked. But my thoughts were a storm.
She had never yelled at me before. Never shut me out like that.
Not even at our worst.
Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. And the idea that she didn’t feel safe enough to tell me yet—it hurt like hell. I wanted to fix it. Protect her from it. Burn it to the ground, whatever it was.
But I couldn’t fix what I didn’t understand.
I turned off the tap once the tub was full and stepped back, wiping my wet hands on a towel.
She was still sitting there when I returned, her hands now in her lap, twisting her fingers together.
“Bath’s ready,” I said gently.
She looked up at me, blinking like she’d forgotten where she was. Then she stood and walked toward me. Slow. Like the air had thickened around her.
I guided her into the bathroom.
The lights were dim, soft and golden. The scent of lavender drifted between us, curling into the air like a sigh.
She stopped at the edge of the tub, her eyes flicking toward the water.
“Will you stay?” she asked.
“Always.”
She didn’t even hesitate.
She undressed silently, piece by piece, like she was peeling off armor she no longer had the strength to wear. When she stepped into the water, she let out a soft breath like she’d been holding it in for hours.
I sat beside the tub on a low stool, reaching for a sponge. I soaked it, then gently ran it over her back, her shoulders, her arms.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched me.
And I let her. I kept my hands steady, slow, reverent.
After a while, her body softened. Her shoulders dropped. Her breathing evened out.
“Do you remember,” she whispered, “that time you made us breakfast and burned the toast?”
I blinked. “Yeah. You said it added ‘texture.’”
She smiled faintly. “I hated it.”
I snorted, relieved at the flicker of humor in her voice. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
I leaned in, kissed her damp shoulder. “You can tell me anything, you know.”
The smile faded.
She looked down at the water again.
“I know,” she said. Then quieter, “I’m just not ready yet.”
I nodded, brushing her wet hair back. “That’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
She reached for my hand and held it tight.
“I love you,” she whispered. “So much it hurts sometimes.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I love you too, Ariana. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”
She turned to face me fully, water dripping down her collarbone. Her eyes locked on mine, and for the first time all night, they weren’t empty.
They were just… scared.
“I’ll tell you,” she said finally. “Not tonight. But soon.”
My heart cracked a little, but I didn’t show it. I nodded instead, brought her hand to my lips, and kissed it.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
She leaned forward and rested her forehead against mine, still holding my hand like it was the only solid thing left.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she said, so quietly I almost missed it.
“You won’t,” I promised.
And I meant it.
No matter what it was, no matter how dark the secret—she had me.
Always.
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