He makes me feel claimed without caging me.
I’m still not used to that kind of safety. But I adore it.
I rest my head against his shoulder. Above everything else in this store, his scent hits me first: bergamot and cedarwood. Sharp, earthy, and entirely him. I’ve sniffed it straight from the bottle, and it never smells this good without his skin under it. Even in this cured-meat cathedral, his is the only smell I can focus on.
I moan around another slice of something divine, and he squeezes my hip, half warning, half habit. The salesman chuckles, appearing delighted, and I giggle into my napkin. These meats don’t need a sales pitch; they’re all coming home with us.
Home.
That word lands heavier these days. More real. Every night I sleep in his bed, the place feels less borrowed.
Preston’s phone buzzes. “The hospital,” he says. He mumbles an apology, mouth full of bresaola—coppa? pancetta? whatever—and ducks out into the cold to take the call. His breath fogs against the glass, his hand gesturing as he speaks.
Then…
A name.
“Blake?” he says, facing the crowd, phone hanging useless at his side, and then he shouts it. “Blake!”
My world tilts.
He’s already moving, pushing through people, scanningthe crowd outside, calling that name again—louder each time.
I don’t move.
I-I can’t.
For a heartbeat, I convince myself I misheard him. It’s a patient. A different Blake. Give me a reason, universe. Any reason. I rub my eyes, chase logic, but his voice cuts sharper.
And then he’s running.
Air abandons my lungs. The cold rushes in with a new customer.
He runs. I stay put.
Maybe it’s instinct, maybe it’s shock, maybe it’s self-preservation. Because if I move, I might shatter.
I stand there, bag heavy in my hand, bread tilting out, the doorbell chiming as people come and go.
He promised me forever, and I’m standing alone in a deli, wondering if it expired already.
My throat burns. My vision blurs.
He ran after her.
I let the bag slip from my hand, murmur a thank-you to the kind old man behind the counter, and step out into the cold.
The wind slices through my open coat. I keep my eyes on the sidewalk because everything else hurts to look at. The world outside is too alive for what’s happening inside me. My fingers go numb around the keys in my pocket.
He ran after her.
Lily’s laugh from when she wins at Go Fish rings in my ears. I brace myself on someone's fence.
The words loop in my head, steady as a heartbeat,round and round. I try to unhear them, but they just keep echoing, feeding off my disbelief. Every “trust me” he’s ever said starts rewinding, unraveling.
He left me behind, without a word.And ran after her.
I walk, unsure of where my legs are taking me. Toward survival and surrender. Somewhere safe—if that even exists anymore.
