His head drops into his hands. “I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. Whatever this is, we can work through it—”
“You don’t get it.” His voice is hoarse, shredded. “I looked at you, and for a second…I didn’t see you. I didn’t see me. I just acted. On nothing. On instinct. And it wasn’t loving. It wasn’t careful. It was…” He trails off, eyes haunted. “It was fucking wrong. It was the opposite of everything I’ve tried to be for you.”
“Stop,” I say firmly, crawling toward him, heart hammering. “That’s not what it was. You’re human. You’re fighting something I can’t begin to understand. But it’s going to be okay. When we get home, we’ll figure out what’s been going on, get you checked out—”
“It’s too late.” He looks at me, broken, jaded, and furious with himself. “You deserve the world, Annie. Music and freedom and kindness and peace. You deserve so much more than what that was. What these last few months have been. I can’t keep doing this. It’s fucking killing me. And I refuse to become someone you have to justify.”
“Chase, please.” My heart hollows out as I reach for him, taking his hand, squeezing tight. “I told you. You’re not him.”
A beat.
A long, tormented beat.
“Yeah,” he finally says, untangling his hand from mine. “There is one difference.”
I swallow hard, not wanting to hear the answer. But I still ask. “What’s that?”
His head lifts slowly, his throat bobbing with sorrow. With dissolution.
We lock eyes.
He doesn’t say it. But I see it.
I hear the unspoken words sweeping through me like a burial hymn.
My heart careens to a dead stop inside my chest. “No…” I whisper, eyes puddling with pain. “No. Don’t you leave me. Don’t you dare walk away.”
A tear slips from the corner of his eye.
Inches its way down his cheek.
I can’t find my breath. My heartbeats. My thoughts.
The only word dancing through my mind iswhy.
Why is fate so cruel? So negligent?
The notion that obstacles only come to those equipped to tackle them is a sham, and clinging to hope with no promise of survival is a brutal, drawn-out demise.
Nothing is fair.
Everything is hard.
And if I don’t get through to him, we’re going to sink before we ever have the chance to truly soar.
“Listen to me, Chase. Please, listen.” I take his hand again, both hands, gripping tight and shaking sense back into him. “I love you. I love you so much. And I know you love me. Not every moment is easy or gentle or kind. Love is full of hardships, of mistakes and regrets and misspoken words. It’s fragile—the most fragile thing in this world. But fragile things are a gift because weprotectthem. We hold them tighter. We fight like hell to keep them whole.”
Another tear slips loose. But he shakes his head, lets out a long, hard breath. “You’re not seeing this for what it is. For who I am, for what I’m becoming. You’re acting like we’re written in the stars, but—”
“Dammit, Chase,” I cry out, stomach in knots, my dreams dancing in the wind, a gust away from unraveling. “We’re not written in the stars. Wearethe stars.”
His eyes glisten, jaw clenched. Fresh tears fall like rain, softening the creases on his face, the deep lines of grief and long-fought struggle.
I press his hand to my chest. “This—us—it’s worth protecting. Even on the days when we feel like we’re coming undone.”
A shudder runs through him. His fingers curl around mine, tentative but firm, like he’s afraid they’ll burn.
