My hands are shaking. I grip the edge of the dresser and force myself to breathe.
I’m done being small.
The words crystallize in my mind. I’m done letting men decide what I can and cannot handle. If Duke wants to throw this away because he’s scared, that’s his choice. I’m not going to slinkhome with my tail between my legs and hope for scraps. And I’m not going to let his fear become my truth.
My phone buzzes against the nightstand.
I grab it, ready to ignore whatever notification interrupted my righteous fury. But Duke’s name flashes on the screen.
Meet me outside the Bellagio. Main fountain. 7 PM
I stare at the words, my blood pressure spiking. The audacity. The absoluteaudacityof this man, thinking he can kiss me senseless, reject me, walk out, and then text me like nothing happened.
Another message appears:And before you say no, you have to come.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard, ready to fire back something scathing.Go to hell. I’m flying home. Don’t ever talk to me again.
But I delete the message.
Because underneath the fury, there’s a spark of curiosity. And underneath that, a desperate, stupid hope I can’t quite extinguish.
I have things to say to him. Things I should have said last night instead of letting him walk away. I look at my reflection in the mirror—tear-stained, furious, more awake than I’ve felt in months.
I grab a fresh dress from my suitcase and shake it out. Thank God for knit jersey that doesn’t wrinkle.
I’m going because I need to say some things. This is for me, not for him.
I slip into the dress, smooth my hair, and fix my ruined mascara. My jaw sets in a hard line as I stare at my reflection.
Let’s get this over with.
The sunset is brilliantlygold and coral and deep violet, the kind of colors that belong in paintings. The Bellagio fountains stretch before me, and tourists crowd around the railing, phones already out in anticipation of the show.
I almost didn’t come, but I knew it would be wrong to disappear without seeing Duke. No matter if he broke my heart, he’s still been my best friend. I don’t know if we can keep our friendship now, but I owe him this.
I spot Duke near the center of the fountain wall, sitting on a bench, shoulders hunched forward. He’s wearing the same shirt from last night, wrinkled now, like he hasn’t slept. Like he’s been through hell.
Good.
I march toward him, rehearsing every angry word I’m going to unleash.You don’t get to decide what I can handle. You don’t get to kiss me like that and then walk away. You don’t get to—
“Sit.” His voice is rough. “Please. I need to tell you something.”
“I don’t want to—”
“Riley.” He looks up at me, and the raw pain in his eyes stops me cold. “Please.”
I sit. Not because he asked, but because my legs suddenly feel unsteady.
Duke stares at the dormant fountains for a long moment before speaking. “I need to tell you about Killian. And Chuck.”
“Who?”
“Guys from my unit.” His voice scrapes like gravel. “Killian came home from his second deployment to an empty house. His wife had cleared out everything—took the kids, the furniture, even the dog. Left a note that said she couldn’t do it anymore.”
My anger wavers. “Duke...”
“Chuck’s wife stayed.” He won’t look at me. “Through three deployments, through him coming home with nightmares and a limp and a temper he couldn’t control. She stayed.” A muscle jumps in his jaw. “And it broke her. I saw her at the unit barbecue last year, and she looked hollow. Like the woman I used to know had been hollowed out from the inside. Like loving him had cost her everything she was.”
