Step on me

Kian

I knew something was wrong the second I saw her face.

Mallory wasn't just upset. She was shutting down.

We were sitting on the steps behind the school, away from everyone else. She hadn't let go of my hoodie since I pulled her into me, but she still wouldn't look at me.

"Mal," I said softly, brushing my fingers over hers. "Just tell me what's goin' on, yeah?"

She took a sharp breath, her shoulders tense. "We can't do this anymore, Kian."

For a second, I thought I heard her wrong. "What?"

She finally looked up at me, her eyes glossy, her face pale. "Us. We need to break up."

The words hit me harder than any punch my da had ever thrown.

I blinked at her, my grip on her tightening like that would somehow keep her here, keep her with me. "Mal, what are you talkin' about?"

Her jaw clenched, her lips pressing together. "This—us. It's not gonna work."

"Bullshit." My voice was sharper now, panic rising in my chest. "Where the fuck is this comin' from?"

She flinched, her fingers untangling from mine. "It's just...it's for the best."

"For who?" My stomach twisted. "Not for me. Not for you. So who the fuck is this for, Mal?"

She stayed silent, her gaze dropping.

I exhaled hard, running a hand through my hair. "Is it somethin' I did?" My voice was quieter now. "Mal, please. If I fucked up—"

"It's not you," she cut me off, her voice thick. "I just...I need to do this, Kian."

"That's not a fucking reason." My hands were shaking now, frustration bubbling under my skin. "We're not doin' this. You don't get to decide this on your own."

She looked up at me again, and it hit me then—this wasn't something she wanted to do.

It was something she thought she had to do.

"Mal," I whispered, reaching for her hand again. "Don't do this."

She stepped back. "I'm sorry."

And then she turned and walked away, leaving me sitting there, heart hammering, stomach dropping, completely fucking shattered.

I didn't go to class.

Didn't go home.

Didn't go to work.

I just walked. Wandered the streets, hands shoved deep in my hoodie pockets, head down, trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened.

Mallory broke up with me.

She ended things.

And I didn't even know why.

I knew she was upset about something, had been off for days, but I thought she'd tell me when she was ready. Thought we were solid enough that she'd talk to me.

But instead, she walked away.

It felt like my chest had been ripped open, like someone had reached in and pulled my heart out of my ribs and left me bleeding in the street.

I found myself back at the garage, not even realizing I'd walked there. Joey was inside, under the hood of a car, but as soon as he saw me, his eyes narrowed.

"You look like shite," he muttered, wiping his hands on a rag.

I huffed out a laugh that held no real amusement. "Feel like it too."

He didn't say anything, just eyed me for a long moment before nodding toward the office. "Go sit down. I'll be in soon."

I didn't argue.

I dropped onto the old, battered couch in the back of the office, rubbing a hand down my face. My knuckles were still sore from last night, from the fight with Da.

Now my chest fucking ached too.

I pulled my phone out, staring at Mallory's contact.

I wanted to text her. Call her. Show up at her house and make her look me in the eye and tell me again that she didn't want me.

But I knew I couldn't.

Not yet.

Not until I figured out what the fuck had changed.

Because I knew Mallory Lynch loved me.

And I knew this wasn't over.

I stayed at the garage long after Joey left for the night.

Didn't want to go home. Didn't want to be alone, either.

I sat on the couch in the office, a cigarette burning between my fingers, staring at the same text thread I'd been looking at all day.

Mallory hadn't texted.

Hadn't called.

Hadn't even looked my way when she left school earlier.

She was serious about this.

And that was the part that made me feel like I was suffocating.

The door creaked open, and I half expected Joey to come in and tell me to piss off, but it was Dean.

"Figured you'd be here," he muttered, dropping into the chair across from me. He smelled like cheap aftershave and stale beer. "Heard about Mal."

I didn't say anything. Just flicked ash off the end of my cig and kept staring at my phone.

Dean sighed, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look, man, I know you're gutted, but you need to get out of your own head. She's probably just freaking out about something."

"She wouldn't even tell me why," I muttered, voice rough.

Dean was quiet for a second. "Maybe she doesn't know how."

I shook my head, running a hand over my face. "It's more than that, mate. I could tell."

He didn't argue. Just pulled a can out of his jacket pocket, cracked it open, and handed it to me.

I took it, even though I knew it wouldn't help. Nothing would.

Because I loved her.

And she was gone.