Saying it hurts.
Not saying it hurts worse.
“She wasn’t my soulmate,” I add. “She just made me feel chosen in a way I didn’t know I needed.”
Tony raises his glass slightly.
“That’s not nothing,” he says. “But it’s not enough.”
I take another drink. The brandy warms my chest, steadies my hands.
“I don’t hate her,” I say. “That’s the fucked-up part.”
“You don’t have to,” Tony replies. “You just have to live.”
I lean back, finally letting the weight settle.
For the first time all night, I feel safe.
Not because the world makes sense again—but because someone solid is sitting across from me, reminding me I didn’t imagine the danger. I didn’t exaggerate it. I didn’t deserve it.
Tony finishes his drink and sets the glass down. His eyes say the marks on my neck. I didn’t have to give details.
“You’re staying here tonight,” he says. “We’ll deal with the rest tomorrow.”
I nod.
The fire crackles.
Outside, snow keeps falling—covering tracks, softening edges.
And for the first time since I woke up choking, I let myself believe this:
Some loves feel like destiny.
Others feel like survival.
Only one of them is worth keeping.
I have a few weeks off. We’ll call the guys and get out of here. Fresh snow. Perspective. We need a damn vacation after the year we’ve all been through.
CHAPTER 30
ETHAN
The mountain doesn’t care why you’re here.
That’s what Tony says as we drop into another run—voice muffled through his helmet, casual on purpose, like he’s not watching me out of the corner of his eye every five seconds.
“Breathe, E,” he calls back. “Just ski.”
So I do.
I point my tips downhill and let gravity take me. Powder explodes up around my knees. Wind claws at my face. My thighs burn, my lungs scream, and for a few seconds—just a few—the noise in my head finally shuts the hell up.
No Sage.
No house.
