Nothing. Not even a hint of response.
“Bryan?” I take another step. “What’s going on?”
“I’m leaving.”
The words hit the air between us and just settle there. I heard them. I know I heard them. But my brain refuses to string them together into anything that makes sense.
“What?”
“I’m leaving Silvercreek.” His voice is dead, like he’s reading words off a page. “Tonight.”
“Tonight?” The word comes out too loud and bounces off the trees, startling a bird somewhere in the branches above. “What do you mean, tonight? Where are you going?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
I close the distance between us before I can think better of it, grabbing his arm just above the elbow. His muscles are rigid under my palm, tense as a wire about to snap. “Of course it matters! You can’t just leave. What about the pack? What about—”
Us.The word sticks in my throat like something I’m choking on.
“I came to say goodbye.” He still won’t look at me. His gaze stays fixed on that spot over my shoulder like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “That’s all.”
“That’s all? Bryan, look at me.”
For a long moment, I think he won’t. He works his jaw, and his throat moves when he swallows, but his eyes stay stubbornly averted. I want to grab his face and force him to see me, but I’m afraid of what I might find when he does.
Then his chin drops, and his eyes meet mine, and I almost wish they hadn’t.
I’ve looked into those gray eyes a hundred times. A thousand. I’ve seen them bright with laughter when I said something that caught him off guard, soft with affection during those quiet moments under this tree, and heated with something that made my stomach flip and my skin feel too tight. I’ve never seen them like this. Empty. Like someone pulled a shade down behind them and turned out all the lights.
“Whatever you think exists between us,” he says, “it doesn’t matter.”
The words feel like ice water poured straight down my spine, and I suck in a breath.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
I reach for his face with my free hand, and he jerks his head back before I can make contact. The rejection stings worse than a slap would have. “I know you’re hurting, Bryan. I know the last three months have been hell. But running away isn’t going to fix anything.”
“I’m not running away.”
“Then what would you call it?”
“Doing what needs to be done.” He pulls his arm free from my grip and takes a step backward, widening the gap between us. “The pack, the territory, all of it—it’s not my problem anymore.”
“Not your—” I shake my head, certain I must be hearing him wrong. This is Bryan. The same Bryan who organized search parties when old Mrs. Wiley’s dog went missing last year. The same Bryan who spent weeks rebuilding the Cortez family’s fence after a storm took it down, then refused any paymentbecause “that’s what a pack does.” “This is your home. These are your people.”
“Not anymore.”
“Bryan, please.” I hate how desperate I sound. Hate the way my voice cracks on his name, exposing exactly how much power he has over me. “Just talk to me. Whatever’s going on, whatever you’re planning, we can figure it out together. You don’t have to—”
“I didn’t come here to argue,” he snaps, interrupting me. “I came to tell you not to wait for me. I’m not coming back, Skylar. Not ever.”
“That’s not… You can’t just decide that.” I follow him, refusing to let him increase the distance. “What about the bond? I know you feel it too. I know you do.”
“It doesn’t matter what I feel. You need to forget about me. Find someone else. Someone who can actually give you a future.”
“I don’t want someone else.”
