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“I just…” She shakes her head like she’s arguing with herself. “I don’t know if I’m built for that kind of life. Soccer games, PTO meetings, the picket fence. The kind where I get boxed in.”

“I never wanted to box you in,” I mutter.

Her lips press into a thin line. “No, but you wanted me to fit.”

Fuck, that punches me straight in the ribs. We sit silently for a long while, the rain drumming steadily around us.

I don't know how I'm supposed to answer that.

Eventually, she heaves a heavy sigh. “I spent all last week doing video interviews for a touring photographer gig. Cedar set it up for me. Not only would the job pay extremely well, but it also comes with free room and board. I'd get to travel the world with the band, manage their social media.”

My breath hitches. “So that’s what you were up to. Are you going to take the position?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

I study her face for a moment with a sinking stomach. “But you want to go.”

When she rolls her head toward me, the wistful yearning in her gaze wraps a tight fist around my heart. “More than I thought I would.”

“Salem…” I trail off because I don’t even know what to say. Don’t go? That’s amazing? I’m proud of you? All of it would be true.

She deserves to do something she's passionate about, but the prospect of her leaving makes me sick. Even though we hadn’t seen each other for a year before the tour, she was always there. But this is… different. We'd have oceans between us. Entire worlds apart. “Why haven't you said yes?”

She pauses for a beat. “Maybe I'm afraid of leaving everyone behind.”

“Even me?”

“Even your insufferable ass,” she smirks.

I shove her playfully, accidentally jostling my fish. “What band is it? And when does the tour start?”

“Symbiotic. They're leaving for Europe shortly after we finish here.”

“Taylor's going to freak.” I whistle low, my gut already twisting at the thought of saying goodbye.

Salem snorts. “He’ll probably try to hide in my suitcase.” My forced laugh dies quickly, fading into silence. When she glances over at me, her expression softens. “I haven’t accepted it yet. I still have time to say no.”

Hope flares inside of me when it shouldn’t. “Would you?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, rubbing her forehead furiously. “I hate the idea of going alone, but… there’s something about it that feels right. Like I’ve finally found a career just for me. Not tied to Tay or Christian, but a brand I can create for myself. By myself.”

“What about Twins of Terror?”

She smacks her lips at that. “T.O.T. was something the guys created after high school and they dragged me along for the ride. Don't get me wrong, I've loved spending the last six years helping them build it, but it's not my baby. It's theirs. You know?”

I nod slowly, trying not to show how much that hurts, because I do know. I get it. Salem is probably the most independent woman I've ever met, and I’m sure it couldn’t have been easy for her to live in Taylor and Christian’s shadow all these years. She wants to prove that she can do something like this on her own.

“I think you should do it,” I tell her, distracting myself by chasing raindrops on the windshield. “Obviously, we'll all miss you, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime deal. I'd hate for you to miss out and regret it for the rest of your life.”

A long stretch of silence follows. When I glance over, Salem’s watching me like she’s memorizing something. “You'd let me go? Just like that?”

I swallow hard, the words catching somewhere between my chest and throat. “No. Not 'just like that.'”

My wife was never meant for the life I imagined for us. I can understand that now. She told me time and again, but I kept on believing that maybe if I wanted it hard enough—if I wanted her hard enough—we'd eventually want the same things. There are parts of herself she stifled in order to be with me, and I did the same. Parts of myself I'm just barely coming to terms with.

Would I have been content settling down with her, popping out half a dozen kids, and mowing my lawn every Friday? Yeah, probably. At least… for a while. But I wouldn’t be truly happy. Eventually, she'd grow bitter and I'd be resentful. That's not the life I want.

“I’ll hate it,” I admit, throat tight with emotion. “I’ll probably spend months wondering where you are, what you're doing, and who you're with. And yeah, missing you every day is going to fucking suck. But if it makes you happy? Then yeah, I’ll let you go.”