“Exactly like that. I spent ten years making sure no one knew you existed, making sure there was no connection between us that could be exploited. I never mentioned your name, not once. I never kept photographs or gave anyone any reason to suspect that Bryan Dinac had a weakness they could target.” I shake my head as the bitter irony of it all settles over me. “And then I came home, and the lottery drew our names together in front of the entire pack, and suddenly, every spy Rafe had in Silvercreek knew exactly how to hurt me.”
“So you were protecting me. All this time, you were trying to protect me by staying away.”
“I was trying. I failed.” The admission burns coming out. “I thought if I kept my distance, you’d be safe. I thought I could carry this alone, finish the mission, and disappear without ever dragging you into my war. Instead, I just postponed the danger and made it worse when it finally caught up with us.”
Skylar uncurls from her defensive position and rises to her feet. For a moment, I think she’s going to walk away, to retreat into the cabin and put a door between us the way she has every night since the ceremony. But instead, she crosses the porch and stops right in front of me.
She’s close enough that I can see the moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes. Close enough that her scent wraps around me like a homecoming I don’t deserve.
“You’re an idiot,” she states. “A complete and total idiot.”
“I’m aware.”
“You should have told me. You should have trusted me enough to let me make my own choice about whether to wait. You should have given me the option instead of deciding for both of us what our future would look like.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” The words feel inadequate, but they’re all I have. “I’m so sorry, Skylar. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was keeping you safe. I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t enough, because that was never… You were always—”
She reaches out and touches my face.
The contact stops my breath. Her fingers are cool against my stubbled cheek, gentle in a way that makes my heart stutter. I search her eyes for anger, for accusation, for the hatred she swore she’d carry forever.
Instead, I see understanding. Empathy for the boy who lost everything and made terrible choices in the aftermath. Recognition of the weight I’ve been carrying alone for ten years.
She sees me. Maybe for the first time since I came back, she actually sees me.
But then her hand drops away, and she takes a step back.
“I understand now why you did what you did, and I’m grateful you finally told me the truth. But understanding isn’t the same as forgiving, Bryan. And forgiving isn’t the same as trusting.”
The words hurt, but I don’t let myself flinch from them. She’s right. One confession doesn’t erase ten years of damage. One honest conversation doesn’t rebuild the trust I shattered when I walked away from her in the dark.
“I know,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. “I haven’t earned it yet. But I’d like the chance to try. If you’ll let me.”
She studies my face for a long moment, and I hold myself still under her scrutiny. Let her look. Let her see whatever she needs to see. I have nothing left to hide from her now.
“I’m going to bed,” she finally declares. “Alone. I need time to think about everything you’ve told me.”
“Take all the time you need.”
She turns toward the cabin door, then pauses with her hand on the frame. Without looking back, she says, “Thank you for telling me the truth. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“It was easier than you might think. The hard part was carrying it alone for so long.”
A small sound escapes her. Not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. Something in between that makes me want to pull her into my arms and hold her until every broken piece of us somehow fits back together.
But I don’t move. Because she’s not ready, and I haven’t earned the right to offer that kind of comfort yet.
“Goodnight, Bryan.”
“Goodnight, Skylar.”
The door closes behind her, and I sit on the porch for a long time after she’s gone, watching the stars emerge one by one in the darkening sky. The conversation replays in my mind, every word and every silence examined from different angles. I don’t know if tonight fixed anything between us or just reopened wounds that have been festering for a decade.
But for the first time since I came home, I feel something loosening in my chest. The secret I’ve carried for ten years is finally out in the open, no longer poisoning everything it touches.
She knows now.
What she does with that knowledge is up to her.
