Page 73 of Falcon’s Forever

“Then don’t do this,” Falcon pleads.

“I have to,” I tell him.

“Why?” he asks.

“Because I was starting to trust you.”

Pain flashes across Falcon’s face, and I almost take the words back.

Almost.

“That’s why this matters,” I finish.

He nods slowly, as if he’s understanding the distinction in real time. “This isn’t punishment. It’s a boundary.”

“I can’t build my safety around whether you make the right decision next time,” I tell him.

“You shouldn’t,” Falcon replies immediately.

The speed of his answer catches me off guard.

“Don’t agree with me,” I snap.

A broken smile touches his mouth. “Would you rather I lie?”

“No,” I admit.

“Then you’re right,” he says.

Falcon looks exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with his injuries.

“I fucked up,” he says.

“Yes,” I confirm.

“Emily got hurt,” he continues.

“Yes,” I repeat.

“And you needed me here.”

“Yes,” I say again.

Every answer cuts, but I give him the truth anyway.

“I don’t know how to fix that,” Falcon admits.

“You don’t,” I tell him.

His eyes lift. "I can't be the thing you fix," I say. "You have to figure out why you still believe being the man who runs toward every threat means more than being the man who stays."

There’s just silence. He looks toward the open front door, his brothers are moving outside, his family, the men who were actually here tonight.

"I'm done, Falcon." I shake my head.

The words hurt before I finish saying them. He goes still.

"Not forever. I don't know what forever is anymore. But right now, I can't do this with you."