She chose Crowning.
She chose death over being my hostage.
You let yourself hope.
You let yourself think that maybe she was starting to understand.
But no.
I stare at Crowning’s location again on my phone. She'll go to him. I know it.
My phone buzzes—Lorcan again.
I smash the phone. “What?”
“So far, so good with surgery.” Guilt floods me, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Thank fuck.”
“Not out of the woods until he’s done, but the doc says he’ll be alright. You coming home tonight? Seamus says?—”
“Can’t. Not tonight.”
“Ash—”
I hang up the phone.
Right now, there's only one thing that matters.
And she's gone.
Left for good.
Over my fucking dead body.
I have to get to her before I lose my fucking mind.
I get back in the car and turn the engine. My hands grip the steering wheel until my knuckles go white, every instinct screaming at me to push the accelerator, to drive faster than is safe, togo get what's mine.
But I don't.
I sit there, the engine idling, staring at the cabin through the windshield.
She promised, and I believed her.
Now she's gone, and I have to let her go.
Have to.
I could find her, throw her over my shoulder, and bring her back here. I’d lock every fucking door, tie her to my fucking bedpost, and never let her leave again.
But that's not what she needs right now.
She needs space. Time. The truth is sitting heavy in her chest while she figures out whatto do with it.
And I need her tochooseme. Not the cage. Not the protection.Me.
So I'll wait.
