Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions Chapter 75

The Uber ride to her house feels endless, stretching between us like a dark highway I can't escape. I know I should've listened to Mike—he made it crystal clear not to go—but I can't *not* go to her.

Griffin sits beside me, looking as smug as ever in his navy suit. His presence, which is usually comforting, only heightens the pressure that sits on my chest. He's been quiet, for the most part, but I can feel his eyes on me in the dim car light. Always watching, and always calculating.

He lets out a long sigh, and it’s the kind that signals he's not going to let me stew in my thoughts for much longer.

“You know, you’re really fucking this up, right?” Griffin’s voice slices through the low hum of the engine like it’s been sharpening itself during the entire ride until now.

I don’t look at him. "Not now," I mutter, my eyes glued to the faint blur of lights outside the window.

“You're not good at this, Thane, I get that,” Griffin continues, his voice turning into something like disappointment. “Hell, I know you have no idea what you're doing. But you keep pushing and pulling her, and every time she tries to get close, you push her even further away.”

I can feel my jaw tighten, but I don’t let the words hit me, no matter how true they are.

"Just drop it," I growl, though I know it’s not really directed at him. I’m angry at myself. Angry at how I let things get this far.

But Griffin doesn’t stop because that’s not who he is. He leans in just a little, almost as if he’s savoring the moment, then asks, “You honestly believe Mike won’t shield her from someone like you? A man like you, who can't even open up to the people closest to him, let alone deserve someone like her?”

I don’t answer him, but my teeth grind together at his every word.

Griffin seems to sense he’s pushed me as far as he can for tonight, at least. “Okay,” he sighs, leaning back into his seat. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

We stay quiet for the remainder of the ride. The tension in the car is thick enough to cut, the weight of everything I’ve left unsaid sitting between us like an unspoken truth.

Finally, the car comes to a stop outside her house. The headlights flicker over the front yard, illuminating her front door, her porch, her short walkway—everything I’ve wanted to see for days.

I barely wait for the car to come to a complete stop before I open the door and step out—a man on a mission to get to his woman.

Griffin follows behind me, but I don’t hear his footsteps. I don’t hear anything except the sound of my own heart hammering in my chest as her front door gets closer with each step I take.

I don’t need to look back to know Griffin’s not happy with my decision. But nothing, *nothing* is going to stop me from walking through that door, from *seeing her*, and from fixing this shitshow that I was the catalyst of.

I reach her door in seconds, my hand slamming against it three times, before I even register what I’m doing. The sound is loud and urgent, just like everything I’ve been feeling since she walked away from me. Since I fucked this up.

“Harley!” I bark, my voice rougher than I intend, but it’s the only thing I can do to ground myself in this moment. Then I wait as my pulse pounds in my ears.

But there’s no response. I know they’re here; Mike’s car is parked in her driveway. So why isn’t she answering?

I bang my fist against the door again, this time harder and even louder. "Harley!" My tone cracks, sounding rough and raw.

Seconds pass. Then minutes. I take a step back, my breath coming quicker now as I scan her living room windows for any small sign of her.

I’m about to knock again when the door swings open. And there’s Mike—his stance wide, his shoulders tense, and his eyes full of warning.

I don’t wait for him to say anything. I go to push past him, my body instinctively moving toward the one place I need to be, towards her, when his palm lands on my chest, effectively stopping me in my tracks on her threshold.

“Thane,” Mike says, his voice sharp and laced with warning. “Don’t do this.”

I rake my eyes up from where his hand is still halting my progress, till they reach his. His eyes are rigid and unwavering. I know that look. It’s the kind of look a man gives when he’s ready to take a bullet for someone he cares about.

“Don’t fuck this up, Thane. Not with her. Not with Harley,” he declares with an intensity that has even me giving him a double-take.

I open my mouth to respond, to tell him that he’s not the one who’s going to decide what I do, but before I can say a word, I hear it.

The soft rustle of fabric followed by a soft breath. And then, in the low light of the living room, there she is—Harley. Sitting back on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, and her back arched just slightly in a way that makes my chest tighten. She’s so still, so quiet.

My heart clenches painfully, and the weight of everything I’ve done hits me like a freight train.

For a moment, all I can do is stand there, staring at her. At the soft curve of her neck, the way the light catches in her hair, and the shadows beneath her eyes that tell me she’s tired, physically and emotionally.

I don’t speak. I can’t.

But my instincts drive me forward, and I go to her. I drop to my knees in front of the couch where she’s sitting without thinking, and without even considering that I, Thane Draeven, the Vampire King of the Americas region, don’t kneel for anyone. Ever.

But I do it now. For *her*. For the woman who’s turned my world upside down and made me question everything I thought I knew.

My hand instinctively reaches for her left one, her uninjured one. It feels like the only thing that matters in the world right now. The only thing that’s real.

She flinches when my fingers touch hers, but I don’t pull away. “Harley,” I say softly, my voice low and barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter something fragile between us. “I’m here. I’m...”

I stop myself—words, apologies—they’re not enough. I can see it in her eyes, which are filled with a raw edge of pain and uncertainty. She doesn’t trust me right now, not after everything that's happened.

I take her hand fully, lacing my fingers through hers, as if anchoring us both to this moment and this space. I stay there, kneeling before her, letting the silence stretch between us.

“Thane,” she murmurs after a long pause, her voice hoarse. It’s the first time she’s said my name since I held her on the dancefloor earlier. And it’s like a lifeline, something I can hold on to. “Why are you here?”

“To try and fix this,” I whisper, the words more broken than I expect them to be.