My fingers stilled.
“But you didn’t.”
That was why I loved him.
Part of why.
Because Dylan had wanted me and still chosen restraint. Because he had seen me broken and not mistaken my vulnerability for an opening. Because he had walked away when staying might have been easier for him and worse for me.
Or maybe not.
Maybe Regan was right.
Maybe everyone had been so busy protecting me that they forgot to ask what losing him would do.
“I tried to move on,” I said.
My voice sounded raw now.
No more nurse.
No more polished woman who knew better.
Just me.
“I really did. I went to class. Made friends. Drank matcha because apparently I became that person. Fed a feral cat named Cupcake with Lily. Went to concerts. Passed exams. Fell asleep on textbooks. Learned how to put people back together. I dated nice boys. Safe boys. Boys with clean hands and plansand parents who didn’t look like they could hide bodies before breakfast.”
I wiped my cheek with my shoulder because I did not want to let go of his hand.
“Daniel was good,” I whispered. “He was. He loved me the best way he knew how. And I tried to love him the way he deserved. But then he met my family and saw too much truth around the edges. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t see bikers as in-laws. He couldn’t see the ugly pieces and stay.”
My throat closed.
“You did.”
The room blurred.
“You saw me worse than anyone. You saw blood and fire and grief and grave paint. You saw me when I didn’t know if I was ruined or cursed or just becoming another version of every story people told about my mother. And you called me Beautiful.”
His hand did not move.
Still, I held it like it could anchor me.
Or maybe I was trying to anchor him.
“I hated you for that sometimes,” I confessed. “Not really. But a little. Because you made me believe I could be seen like that. Fully. Ugly pieces and all. And then you left.”
The words landed between us.
Finally.
“You left, Dylan.”
My voice cracked.
“You left me with blank pages and a bracelet and a nickname no one else could say without making me want to cry. You left and decided it was noble. You decided it was better for me. You decided you were the fire and I needed clean air.”
I leaned closer.
