“Fuck,” he lets out the most guttural groan, as he finally releases, his body collapsing onto mine. “I love you.”
I stiffen beneath him, unsure if what he just mumbled into my neck is real. “What did you say?” I pant, my fingers pressing against his shoulders in an attempt to lift him upward.
He doesn’t move or answer. Instead, he wraps both arms around me and holds me against his body, entirely encompassing me—all the while I try to tell myself Iactuallyheard what I thought I did.
He does love me. He does.
But before I can ask him again, he’s already off me, leaving my body chilled without his warmth. “You should take a shower,” he mutters, his voice a raw scrape.
“In a minute,” I whisper, my body feeling a mixture of satisfaction and emptiness.
All at once.
He eyes me, scooping up his clothes from the floor and then gesturing to the bandage on his arm. “I need to fix this.”
I nod, my chest feeling heavy as I try to study his face.Somethingis off in his expression, but I can’t place it.
So, I watch him disappear into the bathroom, the sound of the spray starting up like a physical barrier between us. I blink a few times and then push myself upward, my body still feeling flushed from the heated moment.
However, as I climb shakily to my feet, I shiver. “Ugh,” I rub my arms with my hands, and then make a break for the black duffle bag. I unzip it and reach for one of the spare hoodies. I slide the hoodie on, then go to rezip the bag.
And that’s when I see it. My heart stopped in my chest.
I pick up the phone, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.What the fuck is this?I stare at it, seeing the picture of some guy I don’t recognize and an older woman.When did he get this?I swipe the screen to unlock it, and the first thing that pops up is a set of notes.
As I pore over them, my stomach starts to knot up.
One person. One fucking person.
The coyote. The escape plan. It isn’t for two. It wasneverfor two.
Noah is abandoning me.
The realization sends a sickening wave of heartache through my body. He wasn’t planning a future for us. He was planning an exit that required me to stay behind. He was going to just disappear and leave me to face the wreckage alone.
I blink back the tears blurring my vision, a white-hot anger flooding in behind them.How could he do this? After everything?
The bathroom door creaks open, and Noah steps out, freshly dressed. He stops when he sees me standing there, the note trembling in my fingers.
“Noah?” I choke out through the tears. “What is this?One person?Where did the phone come from?”
He doesn’t wince as my voice cracks. He doesn’t even look bothered by the sight of me. He just stares at me with those ice-cold eyes, the softness from the bed gone as if it had been a hallucination.
“It’s the plan, Rue,” he says, his tone deadpan. “The only one that works.”
“The plan wasus,” I exploded, the desperation finally clawing its way up my throat. “We discussed this. We go together. I’m not starting over! What do you think they’re going to do to me? I can’t just go pretend that you kidnapped and traumatized me!” The panic racks my chest.
But I don’t know if it’s facing the people. Or just losing him.
“You have to go back,” he counters, his voice sharpening. He steps into my space, looming over me. “The world thinks you’re a victim. Your mother is on the news every night begging for your safe return. You play the part, Rue. You cry on cue, you tell themI forced you, and you walk away clean. You go back to California, and you forget I ever dragged you into this dirt.”
“I have blood on my hands, Noah!” I scream, shoving the phone at his chest. “I killed for you! I lied for you! I stayed when I could have run a dozen times over. Don’t you dare try to'save'me by throwing me away.”
“And that was your mistake,” he shoots back, his voice deathly quiet. “It was never going to end with a sunset, Rue. Look at me. I’m a dead man walking. If you stay with me, they’ll bury you right next to me. And the worst part is, it’s allyourgoddamn fault.”
My lower lip quivers, and I realize the truth.He’ll never forgive me for what I’ve done. Not really. He can say he does, but it’ll always come back. He doesn’t love me.
Maybe he loves the idea of his own martyrdom.
