What can I say? Words are not adequate, nor is this letter. The truth is, I couldn’t face you. I am too much of a coward. I couldn’t tell you goodbye without falling at your feet and begging you to forgive me. I wish I could explain to you in a way that would make you believe me. The love I felt for you was real. It wasn’t infatuation or some silly crush. If I were a human, I would have married you in an instant. But I am what I am. My future is mapped out by the Great Luna. We’ve already talked about all of it, and I know you said you were willing to deal with it when the time came. Looking back, I shouldn’t have let you. I should have argued, put up more of a fight. I should have walked away then so that now the pain might have been less. But neither of us could have realized it would happen so soon. There are no words to fully express how sorry I am. I never wanted to hurt you, or at least that’s what I keep telling myself. But what kind of man does this? What kind of man falls in love with a woman and lets her fall in love with him in return, knowing he can’t give her the world? What kind of man allows a woman to give herself to him in every way, knowing he cannot do the same? There was always a part of me that wouldn’t belong to you. Maybe I should have explained that better. Then maybe you would have been pissed off and told me to take a hike, which would have been for the best. As possessive as my kind are, I wanted all of you, and I demanded all of you. Yet, I couldn’t reciprocate. I wanted your attention. I wanted your time. I wanted my scent all over you, which always made you laugh. I will miss your laugh. I will miss a lot of things.
You’re strong, Lilly Pierce. You’re probably already kicking my memory to the curb, which is what I deserve. I know you will bounce back, and some lucky SOB will sweep you off of your feet. Then I will be but a pleasant memory, if that. I hope that for you. I hope you will be happy. You deserve more than I could ever give you.
I have cleared out all of my stuff. I didn’t want you to have to deal with it. I’m an ass for not saying goodbye. But I know I would have wanted to hold you. I would have wanted to kiss you one last time. And I couldn’t. I couldn’t because, well, you know why.
I’ve dragged this out long enough. Be happy, beautiful Lilly. I know you will curse me, throw things, and scream. Knowing your temper, you might even try to track me down and kick the shit out of me. I wouldn’t blame you. Hell, I’ll lay on the ground and let you. But that doesn’t change what is, what has to be.
Thank you for the time you gave me. Thank you for giving me you. I had no right, and yet you gave anyway. Two nights ago, you told me you’d given me your heart. I nearly demanded you take it back, but the selfish part of me wanted your heart. I wanted you to be mine, even though I could never be yours. There aren’t enough sorrys in the world. You gave me everything, and I gave you nothing in return. I am truly sorry.
Be well, my wild Lilly.
Dillon’s hand trembled as he set the pen down, his gaze fixed on the salty tear that landed on the paper below. His heart felt as though it had imploded inside his chest, crushing his soul as a wave of conflicting emotions surged through him. The pain was beyond anything he had ever felt before, even more than when his parents passed away. His breath grew shallow, and tears filled his eyes. He was certain he would succumb to a heart attack right then and there, despite his kind supposedly being impervious to such human ailments. How had he let it come to this? It was a question he would never stop asking himself and one he would never truly have an answer for.
He folded the letter and put it in an envelope. Dillon checked his watch and saw that Lilly would still be at work. He felt like a coward, but he was also protecting them both. He had no idea what kind of woman his true mate was and didn’t want to give her any more ammunition that might cause her to hunt Lilly down. The final nail in their coffins would be if Dillon had any physical contact with Lilly after having met his true mate. He couldn’t do that to either woman.
Dillon parked outside her apartment and entered with the key she had given him over a year ago. He placed the envelope on the mantel and stepped back as if it might attack him. Then he hurried through the apartment and grabbed anything he had left: a sweatshirt of his she liked to sleep in, a toothbrush, a pair of shoes, and some clothes he kept for when he stayed the night, which had been most nights.
Dillon had never brought Lilly to his camper. Not once. He didn’t want her to show up unannounced, in case he somehow met his true mate. How foolish he had been thinking that would never happen in Coldspring, Texas. Dillon hadn’t wanted Lilly to come face-to-face with the woman who held the other half of his soul. Something Lilly could never do. She couldn’t chase away the darkness that had continued to grow inside him, even though it had seemed to slow down over the time he had been with Lilly. Regardless, it had never stopped growing.
His mind was a blur. He fled the apartment as if the devil were on his heels. Dillon practically flung himself, along with the armful of belongings, into the cab of the truck. His hand shook as he put the key in the ignition and started the engine. He threw the truck into reverse, and as he drove away from her apartment, Dillon didn’t look in his rearview mirror. It was a part of his life that he had to lay to rest. Dillon couldn’t undo it, but for the sake of his future, he had to forget it.
“Would you be interested in buying my camper?” Dillon asked Pat, the gentleman who oversaw the campsite. Dillon was there to pay the final month’s rent for the spot where he’d been living.
Pat’s white hair stuck out from under the cowboy hat that he always wore. He leaned back against the counter behind him, and stuck his weathered hands in his pockets. Pat chewed on a toothpick that seemed to be as much a part of him as his hat. The wrinkles on his face shifted and deepened as he frowned, appearing to scrutinize Dillon. “I take that to mean you’re leaving us for good?” Pat asked in a low drawl, his voice hoarse from years of smoking. His eyes narrowed slightly as he waited for Dillon to answer. The air was thick with the scent of coffee beans and cigarette smoke, both smells Dillon had come to associate with the older man and probably always would.
Dillon slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Afraid so. Life’s taking me in a different direction.”
Pat nodded and let out a deep sigh. “Just going to pick up and go despite having built a life here?”
“I’ve got some fences to mend elsewhere.” Tanya’s devastated face flashed in his mind. Mending fences was putting it lightly.
“Mm-hmm.” Pat hummed. “Well, I can appreciate that.” The toothpick bobbed up and down with the movement of his lips. “Life is short. You don’t want to leave this world with burned bridges.”
Dillon didn’t respond. He just shook his head and stared at the ground.
Pat leaned forward. “You look like you think the bridge you burned can’t be rebuilt.”
“I think I burned it pretty good. I’m not sure.”
“You might be surprised. When something burns down, you find out what caused it, see if there’s a way to keep it from happening again, and then build it back better.” He pulled the toothpick from his mouth and tossed it in the trash can, then slipped the pack of cigarettes out from his shirt pocket.
“What if the bridge can’t be rebuilt? What if there is no material that could possibly reconstruct it?”
Pat stuck the cigarette in his mouth but didn’t light it. “I’m just gonna take the whole bridge analogy to mean a woman. The only bridge a man burns that he feels completely hopeless about is a woman.”
Dillon didn’t respond. He simply stared back at the elderly man.
Pat pushed off the counter and pulled a lighter from his pocket. He flicked it until a flame ignited and then held it to the end of the cigarette still in his mouth. “If she’s worth it, then forget the damn bridge and figure out another way to reach her. Scale a wall, swing on a vine like Tarzan, buy a plane to cross the chasm between you. You do it all over and over again until she is finally willing to listen, if for no other reason than to get you to leave her alone. You fight for her.” Smoke flowed from his nose as he spoke. The passion in Pat’s voice surprised Dillon.
Dillon tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. “Who’d you lose? Who didn’t you fight for?”
Pat’s eyes took on a faraway look as he answered. “My daughter, Maggie.” He pulled the cigarette from his lips and tapped the burned ashes into the ashtray on the counter. “I never got to make it right before she was killed in a car accident.” Pat shook his head. “I’d give anything to go back and fix it.”
Dillon didn’t ask what “it” was. That wasn’t his business, and deep loss still filled Pat’s voice. “I’m sorry for your loss, Pat.”
“Don’t make the mistake I made, Dillon. Whatever wrong you’ve done, make it right.”
After an exchange of money for the camper Dillon was leaving behind and the wisdom Pat had bestowed, Dillon climbed into his truck and set the GPS on his phone for the middle of Colorado. Come hell or high water, he would do whatever was necessary to claim his mate and earn her love.
