Alaric’s throat bobs as he swallows slowly. His gaze darkens even more the longer he looks at me. With unwavering composure, he whispers, “I think we need to pump the brakes.”
The world spins, confusion swirling into a vortex of abject dejection.
Did I walk into a parallel universe? Why does it feel like we’re having two distinctly different conversations?
“There’s too much risk if we continue on the way we have been,” he says, his tone short. “What we have is…” He trails off, focus darting around the terrace. “It can’t possibly be worth the fallout.”
Fat, angry tears cascade down my cheeks.
Sniffling, I wipe them away with the back of my hand. None of this makes sense. But I refuse to go down without a fight.
“What is going on?” I take a cautious step forward, the way I would if I were approaching a wild animal.
He shifts back incrementally, maintaining his distance.
This can’t really be happening, can it?
I clear my throat and try again. “You’re not telling me everything. You can’t be. Something happened. Or something changed between last night and today.”
He blows out a long breath, head bowed, and says, “I’m sorry. This isn’t a conversation I wanted to have, but it’s better to cut ties now then to allow ourselves to carry on like we have been. We can’t keep sneaking around, pretending like there’s a future for us.” He glances at his watch, grimacing. “I’m running late; I should get going.”
My heart cracks in half.No.
If he leaves… if I let him walk out that door…
“When will I see you next?” I ask, my voice pathetic and shaky. I hate myself for being so weak, but I’m desperate. I have to fight for us, even if he won’t.
“Evangeline.”
There it is. My name on his lips. That hopeful, reverent tone he saves just for me.
Except he’s still not looking at me. He’s focused on his feet, on those shiny patent leather shoes.
This is my shot.
With a breath in, I stride forward and wrap my arms around his waist.
He catches me. The reaction is instant, causing hope and an immediate rush of relief to wash over me.
But rather than pull me in, he gently peels me away from his body and takes a step back, whispering, “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Wait.
Fuck.
No.
“Alaric. Please. Don’t do this,” I beg, the two halves of my heart crumbling.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, the apology offered to those stupid shiny shoes rather than me.
Pain and heartache fog my senses, making it impossible to hold my nerve the way I work so hard to do.
“What happened to no regrets?” I demand, scrubbing at the tears that won’t stop falling.
He doesn’t respond, and when I finally catch my breath and clear the moisture from my eyes, all I see is the backside of his head as he walks out the door.
CHAPTER 53
