Page 172 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

“I don’t.”

“That’s because you’re used to getting what you want.”

“No,” he says. “I’m used to losing the things I care about.”

The words hit me square in the chest, and I understand why this feels impossible. Because every single one of them knows exactly how to get past my defenses now.

Julian with humor. Gabe with patience. Xander with brutal honesty.

It’s unfair.

“I can’t be what you want,” I whisper.

Gabe’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “You don’t even know what we want yet.”

My heart pounds so hard it hurts, because a part of me wants to stay. A dangerous part. The part that felt warm sitting between them at the compound. The part that liked waking up thinking about them. The part that already misses them before I’ve even left.

Which is exactly why I need to go.

I shake my head hard and step back again. “I have to stop this before it gets worse.”

Julian looks wrecked by that sentence, though he tries to hide it behind a crooked smile. “Bit late for that, sweetheart.”

I hate him a little. Mostly because I don’t actually want to leave.

But I force my feet backward anyway.

Xander watches me carefully. “Willow.”

I hold up a hand. “No. Don’t make this harder.”

His jaw flexes. Gabe looks like he wants to argue. Julian looks like he wants to chase after me already. And maybe that’s the final thing that gives me the strength to do this. Because if I stay another minute, I’ll fold.

I’ll let them talk me into another dinner. Another night. Another kiss. Another reason not to walk away.

So, before my courage disappears completely, I turn around and force myself toward my car.

My chest aches with every step. Behind me, nobody calls out, which hurts most of all.

I climb inside, hands shaking as I shove the key into the ignition. Then I make the mistake of looking up. All three of them are still standing on the bridge watching me leave. Like they already know this isn’t over.

And the worst part?

I think they might be right.

THIRTY

Gabe

By the third unanswered knock on Xander’s office door, my patience is wearing thin. It’s tightening beneath my ribs alongside the headache that’s been building since seven this morning.

“Xander.”

Nothing.

I glance through the glass wall beside the door. He’s inside. Sitting behind the desk, shoulders tense, fingers drumming once against the armrest before going still the second he realizes I noticed.

So, he’s graduated from ignoring me to deliberately ignoring me.