She glances up, tear-glazed and trembling. “Why?”
“Because I’m feeling selfish too.”
It’s as honest as I can be right now. But it’s enough to drive the point home. Annie intakes a sharp breath, stiffening in my arms. Her fingers curl around the fabric of my shirt.
She knows I’m going to kiss her if she doesn’t walk out that door. Just like I’d planned to kiss her in the pool.
She ran then.
Just like she runs now.
Slowly stepping away, she keeps her gaze leveled with the black-and-white checkered floor. At the end of the day, we’re both runners. Like recognizes like. We run to avoid, hide, punish, and sabotage. We’ll either run in circles until it kills us, or we’ll finally be brave enough to stop.
But not tonight.
Annie inches back toward the door, stopping once to look up at me. “I got you something.”
I blink at her, the headache still beating against my temple, warping my vision. The jewels of her dress swirl under the light, glittering and alive.
Hand disappearing into her purse, she sifts around, pulling out a tiny wood-carved keychain. It’s shaped like a guitar. I blink until my vision settles.
Annie heaves in a breath and extends her hand, placing the trinket in my palm.
I glance down, and etched across the front is one word:Hallelujah.
My hand curls around the keychain, centering me and bludgeoning me at the same time.
A mournful smile curves on her lips. “Happy birthday, Chase.”
As she moves farther away, my pulse slams behind my eyes, and the shimmer starts to fracture. The edges of her blur. Her silhouette ripples like a heatwave in the dead of summer.
The lock flicks.
The door creaks open.
A second later, she’s gone.
And I don’t chase her. Not because I don’t want to, but because if I do, I’m not sure I’ll be able to let her go again.
So I stay—hand fisted around her gift, head in shambles, and heart scrambling for beats.
Only this time, it’s not the running that hurts.
It’s the fact that I always let her.
Chapter 32Annalise
“Yes, Mom. I know. Uh-huh.” I pace the living room in tight circles with my phone to my ear. Seabass sizzles in a saucepan, the scent of capers and a buttery white wine marinade wafting in from the adjacent kitchen.
“You know we just worry.”
My voice dips lower, despite the roar of the range hood and Alex’s angry cooking playlist drowning out all sound within a five-mile radius. “You don’t need to worry. I’ve known him forever. This isn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
Somehow, her sigh overpowers the roar.
I groan. “I can hear your sigh of disapproval.”
“It’s not disapproval. It’s concern. You’re only twenty-one years old.”
