“I don’t want us to end over this. But… I can’t keep pretending it’s fine when it hurts.”
There’s a beat of silence. Shallow breaths on the other end of the line.
“When I get back,” I continue, “I’m going to give you a little space. I think we both need room to hear ourselves think.”
My throat tightens, emotion climbing fast and unwelcome. I don’t want to keep crying into this conversation and have my tears muddy what I’m trying to say.
“I love you,” I add quickly, before my voice can betray me. “And I want us to choose each other on purpose. Not out of guilt.”
I inhale. Exhale. Both are shaky.
“I’ll talk to you later, okay? Bye, Rowan.”
I don’t wait for him to answer. I end the call before the tears spill over and my resolve cracks. I press the phone to my chest as the first sob slips free into the space he isn’t filling right now.
thirty-eight
. . .
Rowan
Idon’t notice the rumble of the plane under my feet until the wheels hit Kentucky soil. It took another two days to get a flight out of Mexico City, and the call with Violet has been playing on a loop in my head ever since.
I should have been there. I should have handled everything differently.
By the time I get to Whitley’s to pick up Bramble, my hands are practically shaking from how tightly I was gripping the steering wheel. When I get out of the car, Whitley’s already on her porch in full form, arms crossed, eyebrows arched, vibrating with fury. Bramble is bouncing at her side, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing over her head.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to her?”
I swallow hard. “I’m going to fix it.”
“Some things can’t be fixed with an apology and those puppy dog eyes, Wolfe.”
“I know.”
Whitley studies me for a long moment, her jaw working like she’s grinding her teeth before jabbing a finger into my chest.
“If you make her cry again, I will gut you with a rusty spoon,” she hisses.
I don’t even flinch. Probably because the image is tame compared to what I actually deserve.
“That’s fair,” I say quietly.
Whitley chews on the inside of her cheek. “She loves you. Which means she’ll give you more grace than most people would. Certainly more thanIwould. But don’t confuse that with infinite patience.”
All I can do is nod in response. I know this is bad.
Whitley watches me for another long beat before handing over Bramble’s leash. “The next move is yours, Wolfe. Don’t fuck it up.”
I drive to the house—our house—with Bramble’s head hanging out the passenger window, tongue lolling in the wind. She’s the only one of us who seems remotely happy right now.
The porch light is on, casting that warm glow I’ve come home to a hundred times. Only this time, I’m coming home to an empty house because Violet’s still in Scotland.
And I should be there with her.
I kill the engine and sit there for a minute. Bramble whines, sensing my hesitation, and nudges my arm with her wet nose.
“Yeah, girl,” I mutter. “I know.”
