I've been sitting in my driveway for an hour, engine off, hands still gripping the wheel like it's the only thing keeping me from turning around. My hands ache to touch her. I know exactly how she tastes, the sound she makes when I kiss that spot on her neck. The phantom feeling of her softness against me makes my chest tight.
I force my fingers to release the wheel. Force my legs to carry me out of the truck and across the gravel drive. The key turns inthe lock with a click that sounds too loud, too final. The cabin swallows me whole, dark and silent and exactly as empty as I deserve.
I don't turn on the lights.
The space presses in from every corner, cold and safe. So fucking safe. And so fucking empty. I sink onto the couch and drop my head into my hands, my ribs feeling too tight around my lungs. My fingers tremble where they press against my skull, and every part of me screams to go back, to fix this, to choose her over fear.
But I don't move.
I just sit there in the dark, letting the distance grow between us, wondering when I became the kind of man who runs from the only good thing he's had in years.
If I don't turn back now, I'll lose the one thing I didn't think I deserved.
But turning back means risking her. Means trusting myself not to fail. Means believing I'm worth the chance she's offering, and I don't. I can't. Not when I see Marcus' face every time I close my eyes. Not when I know exactly how it feels to make the wrong call and watch someone die because of it.
The darkness thickens. Time stretches. My phone stays silent.
She's given up. Smart woman.
Then headlights sweep through the window.
That engine sound… wait. No. That's her car, not a truck. My pulse kicks hard. She can't be here. Not now. Not when I'm this close to breaking.
A car door slams. Determined footsteps cross the porch. Then pounding rattles the door.
"Brooks?" Her voice cuts through the wood. "I know you're in there. Please open the door."
Every muscle locks down. I can't move, can't breathe.
More pounding, harder this time. "Brooks, open the door, or I'm breaking a window."
I believe her.
I cross the room on autopilot and unlock the deadbolt. When I pull the door open, she looks furious. Eyes bright with tears she refuses to shed, jaw locked tight, hands curled into fists at her sides. Her curls are wild like she's been running her hands through them.
She pushes past me before I can close the door on her and this conversation.
"You don't get to do this." Her voice shakes but doesn't break.
"Elorie—"
"No." The anger radiating off her makes me take a step back. "You can’t make me feel like the most important thing in your world and then vanish. I’ll give you all the time you need to process what you’re going through, but you’re not running without giving me a reason." Her voice rises despite her obvious effort to keep it level. "I deserve better than that."
She's right. She deserves everything, and I'm giving her nothing.
"I'm protecting you," I say. The words are cold and bitter on my tongue.
"From what?" Her fists tighten. "From danger that’s in your past? From yourself? That's not your choice to make, Brooks. That'sours."
"From what happens when I fail." The confession rips out of me before I can stop it. "When I make the wrong call and people die because of it."
"This is about Marcus. About the fire."
"It's about the fact that I get people killed." I take another step back, my shoulders hunching inward like I'm bracing for a blow. "I made a call seven years ago that cost Marcus his life. What happens when I make another one that costsyours?"
"That's not—"
"Itis." My voice rises, raw with pain that's been festering too long. "Yesterday, there was a fire, and I flashed back to the worst day of my life. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the certainty that everything was about to collapse." I drag a hand through my hair, pulling hard enough that my scalp burns. "And all I could see wasyou,standing there when something goes wrong. Me being too slow or too broken or too fucking scared to save you."
