“Then you better do something big to show her you mean it.” Jake’s voice sharpens. “Not just words. Something that proves you’re done running.”
The family walks away, the little girl chattering now, tragedy forgotten. The soldier catches his wife’s hand and laces their fingers together, easy as breathing.
He chose her. Every deployment, every hard day, every moment of uncertainty—he chose her. And she chose him back.
I’ve been so focused on what I might lose that I never stopped to think about what I’m throwing away.
“I’ve got an idea,” I say.
CHAPTER 8
RILEY
Iheld it together for exactly three seconds after Duke walked out. Then I crumbled.
It’s been hours since he left, and I’ve been crying like I haven’t since Jeremy. Hell. This isworsethan when Jeremy dumped me. I’m scared I’ve lost my best friend. I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor of the honeymoon suite, knees pulled to my chest, Duke’s Army t-shirt still warm against my skin.
I can still feel his lips on mine. Can still feel the ghost of his hands in my hair, the solid warmth of his body pressed against mine, the way my whole world tipped into something magical and new when he kissed me.
Last night plays on a loop behind my closed eyes. His hand cupping my face, and the way his eyes darkened before he kissed me. The way he groaned against my mouth when I pressed closer, the way I thoughtthis is it, this is finally happening.Yes.
And then he stopped. Pulled away like kissing me was a mistake.
Once again, a man made me feel like I wasn’t worth it, that I wasn’t worth committing to. I never, ever expected that from Duke.
The familiar shame spiral drags me under. Jeremy’s voice echoes in my head:You’re not the girl I started dating. And now Duke, in his own way, saying the same thing—that I’m not strong enough for his life. Too fragile to love a soldier.
The grief curdles in my gut, turning hot and bitter. Fury rises through me like a wildfire, burning away the tears, replacing devastation with fury.
How dare Duke decide what I can or cannot handle? Who the hell does he think he is? Does he realize I already know what it’s like, even if I haven’t been his wife? It’s never even been a question that I’d support him, however he came home.
I push myself off the floor, swiping at my wet cheeks with the back of my hand. My reflection catches in the mirror—red-eyed, messy-haired, wearing his goddamn shirt like some lovesick fool.
I rip it off.
The fabric balls up in my fists, and I hurl it across the room, watching it land in a heap by the window.
Better.
I find my suitcase and start throwing things into it: clothes, toiletries, the stupid souvenir shot glass I bought on The Strip. I don’t care if everything wrinkles. I need to move, need to do something with this rage before it consumes me.
The blue dress.
I stare at it hanging in the closet. The dress that made me feel beautiful. The dress heremembered, the one I’d mentioned offhand months ago, the one he told me to pack because I said it made me feel like a knockout.
I hate it.
I yank it off the hanger and shove it into the suitcase, not bothering to smooth the fabric. Let it wrinkle. Let it rot. I never want to see it again.
Jeremy told me I’d let myself go. Duke thinks I’m too fragile to love a soldier. Both of them—BOTH OF THEM—decided who I was without asking me.
I slam the suitcase shut, breathing hard.
I think about all the times I made myself smaller for Jeremy. The way I stopped playing Bella’s music around him because he called it basic. The way I apologized for having opinions, for wanting things, for taking up space. Two years of shrinking myself to fit into whatever shape he wanted, and it still wasn’t enough.
I almost did it again.
I almost let Duke’s fear become my shame. Almost accepted his rejection as proof that I wasn’t worth fighting for.
