Pathetic, he thought. You're pathetic, Stonefist.
But even as the criticism formed, another thought rose beneath it—quieter, more certain, impossible to ignore.
I don't want temporary.
The realization hit him like a body check, stealing his breath. All these weeks, he'd been telling himself stories. That this was a fling. That she'd move on eventually, the way she always did. That he could survive her leaving because he'd survived everything else.
Lies.
All of it, lies.
He didn't want Edie for a season or a project or until something better came along. He wanted her in his bed every night, in his kitchen every morning, in his life for as long as she'd let him keep her.
Forever.
The word felt foreign and terrifying and absolutely right.
He wanted Edie Anderson forever.
And he had absolutely no idea how to make her believe that staying was safe.
Tarmek set the mug down carefully—too carefully, like it might shatter if he wasn't gentle—and moved to the window.
Snow.
Of course it was snowing.
Fat white flakes drifted past the glass, coating the parking lot in a fresh layer of winter. The sky was heavy and grey, promising more to come. Another storm. Another excuse for the universe to complicate his life.
His gaze tracked automatically to the far corner of the lot, where Edie's camper sat hunched against the cold.
She's there.
He knew it with bone-deep certainty. Where else would she go? That ridiculous metal box was her sanctuary, her escape route, the physical manifestation of her determination to never need anyone or anything too much.
The thought made his hands curl into fists.
She was probably in there right now, convincing herself that last night was a mistake. Talking herself out of everything they'd shared. Building walls he'd have to tear down all over again.
Not this time.
Something snapped in his chest—the last thread of patience he'd been clinging to for weeks. He was done waiting. Done hoping she'd figure things out on her own. Done letting her run away while he stood there like a statue, too afraid of rejection to fight for what he wanted.
Tarmek grabbed the first clothes he could find—sweatpants, a thermal shirt, boots he didn't bother to tie—and headed for the door.
The cold hit him like a wall when he stepped outside. Snow stung his face, accumulated in his hair, crunched beneath his feet as he crossed the parking lot with single-minded determination.
The camper looked worse in daylight. Rust spots he hadn't noticed before. A dent in the siding that might have been there for years. Ice crystals forming on windows that were probably single-paned and poorly insulated.
She lived in this for years.
The thought made his stomach turn. Not because there was anything wrong with the camper—it was clearly well-loved, maintained as best as limited resources allowed—but because Edie had spent so long convincing herself this was all she needed. All she deserved.
He raised his fist to knock, then paused.
Sounds from inside. Metallic clanging. A muffled curse. Then?—
"Stupid piece of—come ON?—"
