I walk away before I say something I'll regret.
My phone buzzes in my apron pocket. I pull it out during a quiet moment.
Declan:Missing you. Can't wait till you get home.
My heart clenches.
I love him. God, I love him so much it physically hurts.
But love doesn't secure my future. Love doesn't make me any less of a liability to his career.
I think about last night—waking up to his hands on me, his mouth on my skin, and the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
I reflect on how he broke his hand defending me and the way he stood up to his father for me. He continues to choose me, even at a cost to himself.
But what if I'm the one costing him everything?
What if his father is right? What if I'm the reason Declan's losing focus and making bad decisions? I’m the reason he’s jeopardizing the future he's worked for his entire life.
What if the most loving thing I could do is let him go?
I pocket my phone without responding.
Another table needs drinks. Another order needs to be taken. Another smile needs to be forced.
I move through the motions, but my mind is somewhere else entirely.
I'm calculating. Planning. Trying to figure out if I could actually do it.
I could actually breathe. Actually live instead of just surviving.
No more checking my bank account before buying groceries. No more choosing between gas and food. No more panic attacks over unexpected expenses.
Financial security. The thing I've never had. The thing my dad has killed himself trying to give me but never quite managed.
I could take care of him, too. Help him out. Make sure he doesn't have to work himself into an early grave.
The possibilities spiral out in my mind, each one more tempting than the last.
But then I think about Declan's face when he told me he loved me. The way he holds me at night like he's afraid I'll disappear. The way he looks at me like I'm everything.
How do you put a price on that?
Apparently, one hundred thousand dollars and a job at Quantico.
I'm clearing a table when Jennifer catches my arm.
"You're freaking me out," she says quietly. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You look like you're about to throw up, cry, or both."
I shake my head. "I just have a lot on my mind."
"Boy trouble?"
If only it were that simple.
