He held the ends of the scarf she’d draped over the side of her vanity mirror, testing the silky fabric and thinking that as soft as it was, it wasn’t nearly as soft as Julia’s skin. He smoothed the duvet cover over her bed, refusing to allow himself fantasies of joining her under it. He popped the top on her perfume bottle and lifted it to his nose. Closing his eyes, he pulled the festive scent deep into his lungs.
When he was satisfied everything was as lovely as he could make for her return, he placed the house keys her mother had given him on the kitchen table beside the letter, set Chewy in his favorite spot on the couch, and gave Ren a scratch behind the ears.
“Bye, bitch!” Gunpowder had flown in from the kitchen to perch on the back of the sofa.
“Bye bitch to you too.” Britt chuckled. But the laugh died quickly in his throat as he softly closed the door behind him and headed down the walk to the production bike he’d been riding since his own beloved Haint had been hauled out of the Michigan woods and hoisted onto a bike lift at BKI.
As he thumbed on the ignition, his heart felt heavy. The motorcycle rumbled to life, but he barely registered the healthy roar of the engine.
Binks had followed the others into the living room. Now, the cat perched in the front window, his yellow eyes watching Britt closely, his fluffy tail flicking against the glass. Two of Ren’s outdoor dog chews showed up in colorful contrast to the fading green of the grass on the front lawn. And the swing hanging from the buckeye tree—no doubt put there for when Julia’s nieces and nephews visited—swayed slightly in the breeze.
It was all so painfully ordinary, so perfectlycommon. Its simplicity cut deeper than any wound he’d ever taken.
It was an unfortunate twist of fate that he couldlongfor a thing almost as much as the thought of actuallyhavingthat thing scared him to death and sent him running for the hills.
The fall air was crisp and sharp with the scent of wet leaves, but it did nothing to douse the flame burning in the center of his chest. He clung to the ache, letting it radiate through him.
It was a warning. An ominous taste of what he would feel should he ever consider throwing caution to the wind and taking a chance on the kind of life, the kind oflovemost people sought as a matter of course.
The utterdevastationhe’d felt when he saw Julia take a bullet, the hours of terror he’d lived through when she’d been rushed into surgery and no one knew the extent of her injury, had proved to him that he didn’t have what it took to be…normal. To want whatnormalpeople wanted.
Because the loss associated with a normal life was just too much.
I wish I were braver,he thought.Someone who could give her what she deserves.
He wasn’t that man, though. He knew it as surely as he knew the weight of his handgun when it was fully loaded.
His fingers hesitated on the clutch as if some part of him—the part she had carved her name into—begged him to stay. But the other part, the part that knew the truth about himself, urged him to go.
As the tires rolled forward, as he left her wholesome little bungalow behind, it felt like he was leaving a piece of himself there on the lawn next to the dog chews and the whispered welcome of a life he’d never have the courage to claim.
30
Black Knights Inc.
Three months later…
Julia stood outside the gates of Black Knights Inc. and stared up at the building’s imposing brick façade.
Is Britt inside?she wondered, rubbing a gloved hand against the ache in her chest.
The pain had nothing to do with her still sometimes tender injury and everything to do with the days and weeks and months since she’d come home from the hospital to a sparkling clean house, watered plants, well-fed pets, and…Britt’s goodbye letter.
He hadn’tsaidthe word goodbye in the letter. But his farewell might as well have leaped off the page and slapped her across the face. It didn’t take an FBI agent’s ability to read between the lines to pick up on what he’d been laying down. And even now, even all these weeks later, she could still recall every line.
Probably because she’d read and reread the letter so many times that the paper was beginning to thin around the edges, and the ink was starting to smudge.
Was it because she was a glutton for punishment? Or was it because, despite the finality of his words, one line—one particularlybeautifulline—had given her hope?
Dear Julia…He’d begun, and her heart had fluttered at the sight of her name scrawled in his handwriting. In her head, she could hear his voice sayingjewel-yuh.
I cannot tell you what an honor it’s been getting to know you over the hours we’ve spent together. Hours that were too fleeting but perhaps made more magical because of their briefness and transience.
You are an amazing woman. Your beauty and brains are only outdone by your courage and kindness. It has been my privilege to watch you work, to see you rise to every occasion, to touch you, kiss you, and hold you during those miraculous moments in front of the fire.
I know your recovery will be painful and frustrating. But if anyone can come back better than before, it’s you. With the help of those who love you—and lord knows, that’s everyone who meets you—you will have a fantastic life and an illustrious career.
I’m rooting for you. Always. And I hope you find someone who sees you the way I do, someone who is everything I cannot be. You deserve the world, and I hope you never settle for less.
