She nodded.
“Go marry Georgia,” she said softly. “Build your tomato garden.”
“Destiny.”
“And don’t flirt with me again.”
The door opened before I could stop her.
She walked out.
This time, she did not look back.
I lay there with her kiss still on my mouth, Georgia’s promise still around my future, and the brutal knowledge that I had just done exactly what I kept claiming I was trying to avoid.
I had hurt everyone.
And the worst part was, even after all that, my heart still reached for the woman walking away.
Dylan
Destiny walked out.
This time, she did not look back.
The door eased shut behind her with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than gunfire.
I lay there staring at the place she had been, her kiss still on my mouth, her words still cutting through me in clean, merciless lines.
Go marry Georgia.
Build your tomato garden.
Don’t flirt with me again.
Pain pulsed under my ribs in slow, brutal waves. The monitor kept track of my heartbeat like it had any right to comment. My hand still remembered her wrist. My chest still remembered her palms pushing me down. My mouth still remembered the second she kissed me back before decency dragged her away from me.
I had wanted to call her back.
I had wanted to say the truth.
The whole truth.
Not the coward’s version. Not the noble version. Not the version where I kept Georgia safe and Destiny free and myself bleeding quietly in the middle like that made me honorable.
But I hadn’t.
Because I was good at bleeding.
Terrible at choosing.
I closed my eyes.
The room smelled like antiseptic, stale coffee, plastic tubing, and Destiny.
That was probably imagination.
Didn’t matter.
