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I should’ve stayed. When she walked off on me after the meeting in the dean’s office, and I threatened her that I could get anyone—I should’ve stayed.
She hadn’t needed a boyfriend. She’d needed a friend, and I’d been selfish and arrogant and spoiled. I should’ve been whatever she needed, whenever she needed me. She didn’t owe me her heart just because I wanted it.
If I’d cared, I would’ve been more patient.
Throwing her to my side, I let her land on the bed and I shot off the mattress, walking out of the room.
“Will…?”
I can’t. I can’t right now. I closed the door, grabbed the key off the wall, and locked it, keeping her safely inside.
“Will, no,” she cried, banging on the other side of the door. “Don’t go, please.”
I tipped my forehead into the wood, desperate to have heard those words from her a million times in the past.
“Will,” she called again. “Stay with me.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the urge to rip the door open and climb into that bed with her.
“Stay with me,” she said again.
I shook my head, trying to clear it.
“What will he do if he knows you’re in town?” she asked.
I turned away and walked toward the stairs. “He already knows.”
I was sick of this same story.
Sick of not having her. Sick of Martin Scott. Sick of not seizing the life I was meant for.
It was time to end this.
I was ready for new adventures.
I climbed the stairs and stepped back into the house, closing the door behind me as I headed for the dining room.
Rounding the corner, I looked at them all seated at the table, Damon stopping mid-sentence as everyone turned to me.
“You got a nanny here?” I asked Winter.
But Rika answered instead. “My mom is.”
Good enough. “Put on something black,” I told them, heading back out of the room. “Let’s go.”
“Why?” Alex called out. “What’s going on?”
But I was already gone.
Heading out to Kai’s car, I pulled a duffle out of the trunk and dug out a black sweater, pulling off my suit jacket and unbuttoning my shirt right there in the driveway. I pulled on the black top, stuffed my jacket and shirt into the trunk with the bag, and pulled on the black ski cap as I ran back into the house.
In minutes, I’d pulled Michael’s old Mercedes G-Class out of the garage, loaded in the supplies I needed, called Kai and Banks and Micah and Rory, and stuffed a couple of sandwiches into my mouth as the rest of us made our way out to the cars.
“Winter not coming?” I asked Damon as he climbed into the passenger side seat.
“Not pregnant, she’s not,” he said. “She’s staying with…” And he waved his hand like he couldn’t remember the name. “Christiane.”
His mom. His birth mother, that was.
