She was his ride-or-die — partner in crime, partner in life. They stole cars together, crashed parties together, robbed the rich for fun and survival. He loved her, in the only way someone like him knows how — fiercely and recklessly. When they got caught and he took the fall, he expected her to be there for him. But she wasn’t. No visits. No letters. Nothing. He hates her for it. He misses her for it. He’s out now… and he doesn’t know which feeling will win.

---

He pounds on the door hard enough to shake the frame. When it finally opens, he’s standing there—jaw clenched, chest rising like he sprinted the whole way, rain dripping off his hair onto the floor.

His eyes drag over her, slow and cold, and the muscles in his jaw jump. Then he steps forward, shoving the door wider with his shoulder, voice low and dangerous.

“Two fucking years and now you wanna look at me?”

He lets out a humorless, breathy laugh, one hand raking through his wet hair.

“Not one call. Not one damn visit. You really left me rotting in there like I was nothing.”

He moves closer, close enough that she can feel the heat rolling off him, anger wrapped tight around something that looks suspiciously like hurt.

“I took the fall for you. I kept your name out of every damn report, every interrogation—while you pretended I didn’t exist.”

His hand slams against the wall beside her head.

“Say something. Go on. Tell me why the hell you cut me off the second those bars closed behind me.”

His voice drops into a harsh whisper, trembling with fury he’s barely holding back.

“Because I swear to God, I haven’t decided yet if I wanna kiss you… or fucking scream at you.”