“You’re where you’re supposed to be, where you belong.”
“I own nothing.”
“You own me.”
My lungs lose air, and tears careen down my face. The impulse to fall at his feet steals the strength from my legs. I pivot and open the car door, leaning on it for support.
“We’re in different seasons of our lives.” I scan the glistening snowdrifts, blanketing the night with ice-white dust. “Your heart is in spring, floating in the enchantment of first love. You’re still hopeful, still planting seeds and eager to watch them grow. But I’m in the autumn of my life. I’ve loved. I’ve lost, and now it’s late. I’m tired, Jarret. I can’t give you what you deserve.”
“You’re giving up.”
“I’m giving you up. Freeing you to move on. You think you love me, but when you find the next one, you’ll thank me.”
“Is that what I am to you? Just another man to love and lose?”
No. That’s why this hurts so goddamn much. I’ve been through breakups, walkouts, and abandonments. I cried. I moved on.
Jarret Holsten isn’t a man I can move on from. He’s the man I will never know as deeply as I want even as he forever owns my heart. This isn’t a break-up. It’s a separation of souls.
So strong is the barbed wire that stitches us together that the process of separating myself from him leaves behind bleeding, shredded hunks.
But I don’t tell him this. He’ll cling to it with a determination that will crush my own.
Instead, I gather the remains of my resolve and say, “I’m sorry.”
I’m always sorry. Always regretting. Apologies mean nothing if I keep doing things I’m sorry for. But it’s different this time. I’m the one walking away, not the other way around. Does that mean I’m finally doing the right thing? Or did I finally meet the right man?
I’m crumbling. Talking myself out of this. Losing my willpower. I slide in behind the steering wheel and reach for the door handle.
“I’ll change your mind.” He grips the door, preventing me from closing it.
“Not this time. Let go.”
“I’ll heal the damage I’ve done. I’ll carry you through this.”
“Do you have such little confidence in me? You think I can’t heal on my own? That I need to be carried?”
“No.” A pained whisper. “You’re right.” A sheen of wetness dilutes his golden eyes, and he steps back, hunching into the warmth of his coat. “You don’t need me.”
Everything inside me collapses and shatters, as if he swung a mallet at my chest. “Jarret, that’s not—”
“I’ll wait.” He stands taller, shoulders back, and adopts the confident stance so intrinsic to who he is. “Take your space, your time, whatever you need. But I won’t let you take forever. That belongs to me. Your forever is mine.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to argue. Strong and swift, his strides carry him across the lot and into the shadows on the front porch.
He’s letting me go with a stipulation. It’s temporary.
If I can’t give in, and he can’t let go, we’ll come to an impasse. He’ll grow bored. Lose interest. He has so many better options.
Options I can’t think about. Women I refuse to imagine warming his bed.
I can’t do this. It’s not too late to change my mind.
I grip the steering wheel, forcing myself to stay in the car as a sob breaks free, followed by tears, choking breaths, trembling bones. I’m falling apart.
Conor emerges from the porch with a bag and my purse and sprints across the snowy lot in a whipping tangle of red hair.
I wipe my face as she approaches the car, my gaze drifting to the stable.
She leans in and glances out through the windshield. “Chicken will always have a home here.”
“Thank you.” I take a breath and let it out.
“I called my phone from yours, so you have my number. Here.” She plops my purse on my lap. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
“Conor…”
“I packed as much of your things as I could.” She tosses the bag into the passenger seat. “When you land, wherever that may be, text me your address. If you don’t, he’ll hire a private investigator with money he doesn’t have, and he will find you. If you tell me where you are, I’ll be able to give him updates and keep him away as long as I can. Okay?”
I look back at the silhouette standing beside Jake in the shadows of the porch.
She follows my gaze and returns to me. “He’ll be okay. He has us. You’re the one I’m worried about. I know how badly this hurts. I’ve been there.”
She’s a helluva lot stronger than I am.
I remove the keys from the purse with a shaky hand. “I’m doing the right thing.”
“You’re doing the brave thing. He’ll wait. For as long as it takes.”
“I don’t want him to wait.”