Page 150 of Sunrise & Serenity

I turn then, making for the hallway.

“Sage.” His voice follows me, but I don’t stop.

Behind me, Taryn says, “I’ll drive her.”

My breath catches. God, I’ve become so used to riding with Holden that I didn’t even think about how I’d get back to the cabin.

Outside, the cool evening air hits my flushed face, and I inhale shakily. Taryn catches up to me, Holden’s truck keys dangling from her fingers. “Come on.”

I climb into the passenger seat while she starts the engine. As we pull away from the house, movement catches my eye. Holden stands on the porch, the last of the evening sun catching the edges of his shoulders as he watches us leave.

Watches me leave.

And that hurts more than anything else that’s happened today.

Taryn says nothing during the drive to my cabin, both hands tight on the steering wheel.

Halfway there, guilt curls in my stomach. “I’m sorry.”

She exhales. “Yeah. Me too.”

After she drops me off with a watery smile, I wait until the rumble of Holden’s truck recedes down the road, then close the cabin door behind me and sag against it.

Silence settles heavily over the small space.

I’ve spent most of the last few weeks at his cabin. In his bed. This place should feel like a refuge from everything that happened today. But it doesn’t. At least, not right now.

Throat tight, I push away from the door, unstrapping my camera bag and dropping it onto the couch.

This morning, I woke up tangled in his sheets, and now there’s a canyon between us.

Anger flares again. How dare he accuse me of hiding things while he was planning to leave? How dare he act like he’s being responsible when all he’s really doing is making choices without me?

I pace toward the kitchen before turning back again almost immediately. The cabin suddenly feels too small. One of his flannel shirts hangs over the back of a chair. I’ve been wearing it just because I love how it feels on me, how it smells like him. I have to look away.

I sink onto the edge of the bed and press the heels of my palms against my eyes.

What am I supposed to do now? Take the residency? Go back to New York? Find another temporary contract and move on? These are the decisions I should have been making over the last few weeks. Instead, I was falling hard for a man who now seems determined to walk away from me first.

The tears that have been threatening finally spill over. I don’t break down or sob loudly, though part of me wishes I could fall apart. But I’m too drained, too hurt, too damn lost. There’s no catharsis, just a bone-deep sadness that won’t stop leaking down my cheeks.

I stare down at my phone I didn’t even realize I was holding. No messages. I’m not sure why I’d expect any. Holden’s not the messaging type. If he’s having second thoughts, he’s more likely to show up at my door.

Not that I think he will. I know resolve when I see it.

Part of me longs for him to show up. The other part wants to throw something at his head.

Eventually, I kick off my boots and crawl beneath the blankets, fully clothed.

Sleep never really comes. Just restless drifting broken by thoughts of Graham, Milan, the look on Holden’s face when Taryn said she thought he liked being home, and his silhouette on the porch, frozen in place as we left.

By dawn, I’m hollow, completely scraped out.

But somewhere between staring at the ceiling and listening to the wind outside, I realize I don’t want it to end like this. Not after everything that happened between us. Not after he finally let me in.

Whatever happens next, we deserve a better ending than a photo torn down the middle and the two halves thrown aside.

Between one breath and the next, clarity settles painfully into place. We need to talk—really talk. Even if the ending doesn’t change, at least it won’t feel unfinished.