Page 123 of Keller

"They're not separate." He shakes his head slowly. "They can't be. You knew who I was. You knew what your assignment meant for my family. And you kept coming back."

"Because I couldn't stay away."

"That's not a reason. That's a selfish, shitty excuse."

The words sting as they settle under my skin.

"I love you," I say again. "That's the truth, Keller. The way this happened, that we met under these circumstances, is fucking shitty, I agree with you. But it doesn't change the truth."

He looks at me for a long moment. His eyes are dark behind his glasses. The hurt is there, underneath the composure. I see it in the way he holds himself, the way his fingers curl and uncurl at his sides.

"Love without loyalty is meaningless to me. As a matter of fact, love is meaningless to me. What does it even mean if you'll betray the person youlove? Love is a joke, so you telling me that means nothing."

"I was loyal to you."

"You were loyal to your job."

"I can be loyal to both."

"Not when you're tasked with taking me down, and that trumps everything else." He steps back. Toward the door. "You can't."

The distance opens between us. The way he says all of this, the way he is so absolute and calm about it, sends a chill through me. A lump rises in my throat as my mind races for anything that will convince him to stay.

"Keller, please."

"I don't want to do this again." He reaches for the doorknob.

"Do what? I'm done with that role. Please, we can fix this. Please don't leave."

"The secrets, the explanations, the compartmentalization." His jaw tightens. "I've lived that life. I won't choose it a second time."

Lived what life?

He opens the door.

I want to reach for him. I want to close the distance, grab his arm, make him stay. Make him listen.

But I don't move.

He pauses at the threshold. Half in, half out. The morning light falls across his face.

"Goodbye, Quinn."

He steps through, and he pulls the door shut behind him.

The click of the latch sounds louder than it should in the quiet house.

I stand in the entryway. My robe is still cinched at my waist, and my damp hair clings to my neck.

The sunlight coming through the window is too bright. It hurts my eyes. It feels wrong, all that warmth when everything inside me has gone cold.

I lean my forehead against the door. The wood is smooth and cool against my skin. I turn and press harder, feeling the pressure build behind my eyes.

My knees buckle.

I don't decide to sit. I just slide down, my back scraping against the door until I hit the floor. The hardwood is cold through the thin fabric of my robe. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them.

The first sob catches me off guard.