CHAPTER EIGHT
CALLUM
Idon't sleep.
I lie in my bed, the bed that still smells like her, and stare at the ceiling while the hours crawl past. Every creak of the cabin makes me think she's coming to find me. Every gust of wind against the windows sounds like her voice.
She doesn't come.
By three in the morning, I've replayed our conversation a hundred times. Analyzed every word. Searched for the moment I could have said something different, done something different, made her believe that what we have is real.
But that's the problem. I can't make her believe anything. She has to choose to trust me, and she chose fear instead.
I understand fear. I've lived with it for twenty-two years, ever since I became responsible for three younger brothers and a failing business and a mountain of grief that threatened to bury me. Fear kept me safe. Fear kept me from getting too close to anyone who might leave. Fear built the walls that protected me from the kind of loss that had already shattered my world once.
But fear is also why I spent eight years alone. Why I let Marianne walk away without fighting for her, even though partof me knew she wasn't right. Why I've kept everyone at arm's length, convinced that distance was the same thing as safety.
Nadia isn't Marianne. She's not trying to change me or manage me or turn me into someone I'm not. She's just scared. Scared of wanting something this much. Scared of trusting someone who might disappoint her.
I know because I'm scared too.
The difference is I'm done letting fear make my decisions.
Dawn comes slow and gray, the sky heavy with clouds that promise more snow. I get up, shower, make coffee I don't taste. The cabin feels too quiet. Too empty. Like the life that was starting to bloom here got snuffed out overnight.
I'm on my second cup when I hear her moving around upstairs. The creak of floorboards. The rush of water in the bathroom. Small sounds that shouldn't affect me this much but do.
She appears in the kitchen twenty minutes later, dressed in her travel clothes with her suitcase trailing behind her.
My chest cracks open.
"You're leaving."
"My flight is at two." She won't meet my eyes. "I called a cab. It'll be here in an hour."
"You don't need a cab. I can drive you."
"I know. I just..." She finally looks at me, and the dark circles under her eyes tell me she didn't sleep either. "I think it's better if we make a clean break. Easier."
"Easier for who?"
"For both of us." Her voice is steady, rehearsed. Like she practiced this speech in the mirror. "This weekend was incredible, Callum. You're incredible. But we both know this was never going to be more than what it was."
"Do we know that?"
"I live in Chicago. You live here. I don't have a job. You have a business and a family and a whole life that has nothing to do with me." She grips the handle of her suitcase like a lifeline. "We were playing pretend. And it was beautiful. But pretend has to end eventually."
I set down my coffee cup carefully. Deliberately. Giving myself time to choose my next words.
"So that's it. Four days of pretend and you walk away."
"It's not walking away. It's being realistic."
"It's running." The words come out harsher than I intended. "You heard some gossip at a wedding and instead of talking to me about it, you decided to burn everything down. Classic self-fulfilling prophecy. Push until the other person gives up, then blame them for leaving."
Her face goes pale. "That's not fair."
"No, it's not. None of this is fair." I stand, and she takes a step back like she's afraid of what I might do. The distance guts me. "I told you I don't play games. I told you I prefer honesty. And you looked me in the eye and said you didn't want to ruin this. That you didn't want to push first. That you were tired of being the one who destroys things."
