His voice is calm, low. “Why?”
I laugh bitterly, running a hand over my face. “Because she needs space. Because if I keep pushing, she’ll run even further. And I’d rather give her miles of distance than watch her walk away for good.”
I shake my head, words tumbling out before I can stop them. “But the truth? I needed the space too. Because—fuck, Reed—she gutted me. I bent over backward for her. Let her in where I don’t let anyone. And she still looked at me like I was just some deal she got stuck with.”
My chest heaves, the confession tearing me open. “I love her. Fuck, I love her more than anything. But when she doubts me like that? When she pulls back, runs like I’m not worth trusting? It’s like she rips the ground out from under me. And I can’t—I can’t keep standing there, begging her to see me, while she’s ready to bolt at the first sign of real.”
Reed leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, green eyes locked on mine. “You’re hurt.”
“Yeah, no shit sherlock.” My laugh is broken.
“You love her,” he says again, calm, steady.
“Yeah, I love her. But it’s more than that, Reed. She’s embedded in me. I’m broken for anyone else. I wear that ring like it’s my last hold, because even when it’s fake, it’s real to me. Every time I touch it, it’s like I can almost feelher hand in mine. And if that makes me pathetic? Fine, I’ll be pathetic. I’d beg on my knees before I’d let her think she’s anything less than my everything.”
He nods once, slowly. “So give her the space. But don’t lie to yourself about why. You left because you needed it too. You don’t have to bleed out in front of her just to prove you love her.”
I stare down at my hands, my knuckles tight around the bottle. “What if giving her space means she never comes back?”
Reed stays quiet for a long beat. Then he says simply, “Then she doesn’t deserve you.”
I look up at him, and I see it—the truth in his eyes. Not judgment, not pity. Just the weight of a man who knows what it feels like to love and lose, to be gutted and still stand.
And in that shadowed living room, with the scent of cedar and whiskey lingering in the air, I finally admit it to myself.
I didn’t just walk out because Amelia asked for space.
I walked out because I’m bleeding too.
amelia
. . .
The buzz of the tattoo gun drowns out everything else—the roar in my head, the silence in my phone, the image of his eyes when he told me he loved me.
I focus on the needle tracing black into skin, my hand steady even though my chest feels like it’s caving in.
My client’s stretched out on the chair, scrolling through their phone while I carve a phoenix across their forearm, each line pulling me deeper into the distraction.
Because if I stop, even for a second, I’ll think about him.
I know it’s game day.
His last game against the Kentucky Daredevils. I know the Mustangs fans are filling the stands, yelling his name, waiting for him to lead them to victory as he always does. I know Maggie is probably pacing the sidelines, her perfect nails tapping on her clipboard, hoping he doesn’t fuck up the image she’s spent years creating.
And me?
I’m sitting here, hiding behind buzzing machines and ink-stained gloves because I couldn’t bring myself to go. Icouldn’t sit in the stands and watch him, knowing the last words I left him with were silence. Knowing the last look I saw on his face was wrecked, broken, and still burning with love, I can’t allow myself to take.
God, Amelia. Idiot, idiot, idiot.
I press the pedal, deepen the shading, anything to drown out the guilt gnawing at me.
He told me not to let one rotten man ruin the good one standing right in front of me. And what did I do? I let fear win. I let it keep me out of the one place I should’ve been today, by his side.
My client hisses when the needle hits a tender spot, and I mutter an apology, refocusing. Line work. Black fill. Keep your hands steady. Pretend your heart isn’t unraveling, I mentally tell myself.
Because I know one thing for sure: no matter how deeply I bury myself in work or how hard I try to run, when I close my eyes, I still see him. And I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for not being there.
