“You sure about that?” he says through clenched teeth. He curls his finger, digging the blunt edge of his nail into my skin hard enough to sting. A cruel, knowing smile inches up his face.

Heart pounding in my chest, I lean into the prickle of pain. Until I’m sure there will be a red half-moon crescent engraved into my skin.

My grip on his wrist tightens. “You could try,” I whisper, searching his hooded gaze. “But we both know you don’t actually want to. And we both know I’d stop you. We both know I’d never let you get that far.”

Something flickers in his eyes at my words. Momentarily breaking up the cruel blackness as they sear into mine with a wordless plea. The cigarette collecting ash between his fingers starts to fall, and I quickly grab it with my free hand, flicking off the cherry, and tossing the butt on the bar.

In a stilted voice, he tells me, “Walk away. Just fucking go.”

My mouth starts to lift when I hear the faintest quiver.

He’s breaking.

I’m breaking him.

Maybe all hope isn’t lost.

Come on, baby. Come back to me.

There’s a brief lapse between songs as Alice in Chains gives way to Third Eye Blind’s “God of Wine.” This song is softer. Slower. Easier on the ears. Distantly, though, I can’t help but wonder if he chose this, or if it’s just on shuffle. A coincidence.

Hell, maybe it’s just the universe’s way of laughing at us.

Taking a huge risk, I cup his cheek with the hand not holding his wrist. Cradling his stiff jaw in the heel of my palm. Waiting for him to sink in and cave to my touch.

His mouth trembles before hardening into a thin, bloodless line.

I stroke his lightly stubbled cheek with my thumb, not taking my eyes off his. Just...waiting.

Come on, come on, come on—

It’s his nose first. The slightest wrinkling.

And then it’s his eyes—brightening, brightening, brightening as tears bubble over their surface.

Let go. Let go for me—

He shoves me.

The bottle of whiskey slips from my grip, crashing to the floor between us as I drop my hand from Waylon’s face to take both his wrists in my hands. Keeping myself upright before I can go stumbling back. Shards of glass scatter across the floor as amber liquid pools around our feet, soaking into the floorboards.

How many more will we break tonight? I can’t help but wonder.

He makes a noise from deep within his throat, raw and painful, as he splays his hands over my pecs. His fingertips, little points of heat against my skin, just under my neck. Branding me.