Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

Amelia

I'm meant to be alone.

Even though I tried to stay positive when talking to Morgan and Mr. Donovan, the moment I got home that evening, I fell apart.

How could I ever make things work as friends after I tried to kiss Misha?

The humiliation is overwhelming, and now Oliver has seen me at my weakest, pulling my hair. It's good he came when he did, or I might have pulled all of it out. At that moment, I didn't care.

I couldn't care.

But now, the thought of looking into their eyes again feels unbearable. My anxiety about it was so bad that on Monday, I told Dr. Cockwomble I was sick and then worked on the solar panel project from home for two days. If I'm honest, I spent more time on my own AR work than anything else and made real progress.

But he doesn't have to know that.

The guys, Morgan, and even Mr. Donovan texted me, but I didn't respond to any of them. I buried myself in my work, not even telling Jamie to come back online. I even made sure my door was locked with the key inside since I seemed to forget to lock it too often and didn't want them to just show up.

Which seems to have become a habit of theirs.

And I just wanted to be left alone to dwell in my misery.

But now it's Wednesday, and the company has a mandatory team-building day. The whole leadership board will be there, so I can't skip it. I don't think they even know who I am or that I exist, but I wouldn't put it past Langley to rat me out and make me look bad.

The bus ride to the event is a blur. My mind is filled with a jumble of emotions and thoughts.

How can I pretend everything is okay when I'm a mess inside?

I arrive at the building almost a little late, which is a first for me, and take a deep breath before stepping inside. The room is buzzing with activity. People are chatting, laughing, and mingling. I spot Hendricks across the room, and he gives me a small, encouraging smile. I force a smile back, but my stomach is in knots as I walk over to him. I avoid looking for Oliver, Misha, or Grey, afraid of what I'll see in their eyes.

"Hey," I whisper to Hendricks when I come to stand beside him.

"Hey, do you feel better?" he asks with genuine concern in his eyes.

"I do." I don't.

Langley catches sight of me from a few feet away and strides over, a smug look on his face. "Glad to see you could make it, Amelia. I was beginning to think you were going to skip out on us."

"I wouldn't miss it," I reply, keeping my voice steady .

"Good. We need everyone to participate today. It's important for team synergy," he says, giving me a pointed look before walking away.

Hendricks and I are at the back of the room, so I'm hoping to blend in and avoid any unnecessary interactions. The event kicks off with a few speeches from the leadership team, but I can barely focus on their words. My mind keeps drifting back to the mess I've made.

After the speeches, the event organizer steps up to the microphone. "All right, everyone, it's time for our team-building activity. This whole building is set up with different escape rooms. You'll need to form teams of four, and each team must include at least one person from a different department to strengthen inter-departmental relationships."

This is the worst.

I turn to look at Hendricks, about to ask if he wants to go ask the guys from the hardware department to build a team with us, when someone grabs my wrist.

"Come on," says a familiar voice. I turn to look up at Grey, who's trying to pull me away, but I hold against it. He stops and turns to look at me, frowning. "What?"

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice tinged with frustration.

"Gathering my last team member," he mutters, pulling me once more.

"I was going to build a team with Hendricks," I protest, my heart pounding.

"No, you're not. You're ours. "

A strange thrill runs through me at the possessiveness in his tone.

Ours.

The word lingers in my mind, sending a shiver down my spine. I glance back at Hendricks, whose shrug does little to alleviate the guilt gnawing at my stomach.

"Traitor," I mutter under my breath, though I know it's not fair to blame him.

When Grey pulls me a few steps away, I hiss at him, "You're unbelievable. That was rude. I don't like to be rude."

"Well, you were perfectly fine being rude to me and not answering any of my texts or phone calls the last two days." He stops abruptly and turns, nudging my chin up so I have to look at him. His touch is firm but gentle, and his eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat. "I don't like not knowing if you're fine, Amelia. If I hadn't…" He trails off. "Next time, just give me a fucking sign that you're still alive. Just tell me to shut up or whatever. It's fine as long as I know that you're still breathing. Okay?"

Fuck. I'm the worst.

His eyes reveal more than he probably wants me to see—worry, frustration, and something deeper. I think about how he said he texts his parents but never hears back from them, and guilt washes over me, making me feel even worse than I did before.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

He searches my eyes, and for a moment, his gaze drops to my lips, making my breath hitch. But then he shakes his head, and the moment is gone. "Great, now that we've cleared that up…" He pulls me away again, his grip firm but not harsh.

My mind races as we make our way through the crowd. I can feel the eyes of our colleagues on us, but Grey's determined stride keeps me moving forward. My heart is a jumble of emotions—anxiety, guilt, and a strange sense of relief that he cares enough to drag me along.

We come to a stand in front of Oliver and Misha, who are talking to each other but also scowling. When they see me, Oliver smiles softly, but Misha doesn't meet my eyes.

Well, if these aren't the consequences of my own actions.

Grey's grip on my wrist loosens, but he doesn't let go entirely. "Okay, we're set," he announces.

Oliver gives me a reassuring nod while Misha remains distant, his expression unreadable. The air between us is thick with unspoken tension.

Bloody hell.

The organizer's voice echoes through the room, "Once you have your teams, head to the designated escape room areas and wait for further instructions."

Grey, still holding my wrist, leads us to an area, only letting go of me to cross his arms over his chest and scowl at the people around us.

"Are you angry?" I ask, noticing his tense expression.

"It's my face," he retorts.

"No, this is the angry face," I mutter, not expecting him to respond again.

Misha, still avoiding my gaze, adds, "Today he's wearing a lovely shade of I slept like shit, so don't piss me off. "

"I just hate everyone here," Grey grumbles.

Misha huffs a laugh. "You hate everyone, period. Yourself included."

"I hate myself, but I'm still better than anyone else," Grey shoots back.

Oliver chimes in, "You would feel better if you didn't hold grudges against everybody who just looked at you the wrong way."

Grey snorts. "I don't hold grudges. I remember facts."

Oliver and Misha exchange glances, and despite the tension, I can't help but feel a small spark of warmth at their banter.

We're assigned to an escape room decorated with antique furniture. The dim lighting makes everything feel more ominous. I take a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the awkwardness between us.

Oliver comes to stand beside me and breaks the silence with a smile. "Ready to put those brains to work?"

I nod, forcing myself to smile back, but my heart isn't fully in it. Never in my life have I slept better than with him holding me all night, but I couldn't even text him back after he left Monday morning. The guilt lingers, making it hard to meet his eyes.

Grey immediately heads to a locked chest in the corner, examining it with intense concentration, and my attention shifts to Misha. He begins fiddling with a series of dials on the wall, his brow furrowed in thought. But it's not just his focus that catches my eye. It's the slight limp in his step, the way he favors one foot as he moves.

The reminder of his injury pulls at my heart, filling me with concern.

Is he still hurting?

Should he even be on his feet like this? The urge to ask wells up inside me, but of course, I don't. Instead, I hover near the center of the room, unsure where to start. My eyes keep drifting to Misha. It's hard to focus on anything else when I know he's in pain.

And ignoring me.

"Hey, Amelia, can you check that painting?" Oliver calls out, gesturing to a large, ornate frame on the wall.

Grateful for him telling me what to do, I nod and walk over to the painting. As I examine it, I notice small, almost invisible hinges on the side. I push, and the painting swings open to reveal a hidden compartment with a series of cryptic symbols.

"Guys, I found something!" I call out.

Grey and Oliver come over to inspect the compartment. Misha continues to work on the dials, but I catch him glancing over occasionally.

"Good find, Amelia," Oliver says, his tone even softer than before. He studies the symbols, his mind already working to decipher them.

We fall into a rhythm, each tackling different parts of the room and communicating through the puzzles.

Halfway through the exercise, I'm kneeling on the floor, focused on deciphering a set of clues, when Misha comes to stand beside me. He gives me a small, tense smile when I look up at him.

"Hey," he says, his voice gentle but laced with unease.

"Hey," I reply, barely above a whisper. My heart races as I struggle to stand.

Fuck.

"I'm an absolute idiot. I'm really sorry, and my hair is green," he says, his eyes sincere as he stands right in front of me.

I glance at his black hair, a grin tugging at my lips as I understand the game. "I'm the idiot here. I'm really sorry about how I acted, and my teeth are blue."

He steps even closer, one hand coming to rest on my hip, the other cupping my face. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through me when he pulls my lower lip down with his thumb, leaning in to look at my teeth. "Mmm. I think I just found the lie," he teases with a small, playful grin.

His nearness and the feel of his thumb on my lip make me press my thighs together as a wave of arousal washes over me. But then, the memory of the car and the humiliation crashes in, dousing my desire like a bucket of ice water.

He seems to notice because he lets go of me but stays close, grabbing my hand and intertwining our fingers, making my heart ache with longing and confusion.

"Amelia, please don't push me away. I know… I'm the one who did it first. And I'm so sorry. I should have… I don't know what I should have done, but I never wanted to hurt you. I would never hurt you intentionally. I care so much about you, and I don't want to lose you. Please… can we forget about it and go back to how it was before? I miss you," he says, his voice filled with genuine regret.

He's giving me what I wanted on a gold platter, making it easy for me to say yes and act as if it never happened. But inside, I know that I can never forget it, and no matter what, they are so much more than friends to me.

I miss them too.

So much.

I can't lose them either.

And if I have to choose between being lonely, miserable, and missing them, or being pathetic and pining for them while still being around them, I'll always take the second option.

"Forget what? What happened?" I ask, trying to be funny, though my heart is heavy with unspoken words.

"Thank you, Bug," he whispers, his relief audible. He leans in to kiss me on the cheek, his lips warm against my skin.

This friendship is going to be the sweetest form of torture.