Page 239 of Blackthorn Ridge

She squeezed his fingers tighter, leather creaking softly.

“Cal, baby… talk to me.” Her voice was gentle but steady, cutting through the wind. “Let me help.”

He didn’t look at her.

His face was carved from granite, jaw locked tight as he stared out over the snowy embankment. The pines around them stood like silent witnesses, heavy branches bowed under fresh powder. Far below, the valley stretched white and endless, the cabin a distant warm spark already being swallowed by the storm. The sun had slipped behind thick bruise-colored clouds, and the wind was rising—sharp, relentless, slicing across Sage’s cheeks like tiny knives. Snowflakes whipped sideways, catching in her lashes.

Cal closed his eyes. A long, shuddering breath fogged the air in front of him.

Sage’s heart twisted so hard she almost couldn’t breathe. The ache cut deeper than the cold biting through her coat.

His jaw worked hard, the muscle jumping beneath dark scruff already dusted with fresh snow. Another gust howled across the ridge, snapping at the hem of his trench coat like it wanted to drag him off the edge. He looked like a man standing at his own funeral—shoulders squared against the wind, eyes fixed on some point far down the valley where the world was still quiet.

“I can’t be with you, Sage.”

The words landed like a slap across frozen skin. She flinched hard.

“I shouldn’t be around you,” he continued, voice low and scraped raw, each syllable dragged out like it cost him blood. “Yesterday proved it. I turned into exactly what I’ve always been underneath.”

He paused, his voice a whisper “A goddamn animal. One punch and I almost killed a man in front of his own kid. What if next time it’s you? What if I lose it on a bad night and you’re the one standing in my way?” His gloved hands flexed at his sides. “I’ve got blood on these hands that won’t wash off no matter how hard I scrub.”

Sage watched him, the wind blowing around them.

God please…I need…your help. Please Lord.

Cal looked away “Monsters don’t get happy endings, Sage. They don’t get love. They don’t get… you.”

He finally turned to face her. Those gray eyes—usually so steady—were shattered.

“I should’ve ended this weeks ago,” he said, quieter now. “Before you got so deep in me I can’t rip you out without killing us both. You deserve someone who doesn’t scare the hell out of himself every time he looks in the mirror. Someone safe.”

Sage stared at him, her breath coming faster, her chest heaving under the thick cardigan. The wind screamed between them, snow stinging her cheeks like tiny needles, but she barely felt it. Something hot and furious was rising fast under her ribs—Mary Sue’s warning burning in her ears like gospel.

“Stop it,” she whispered first, voice shaking. Then louder, sharper. “Just stop.”

Cal tried to look away again. She grabbed fistfuls of his heavy trench coat and yanked hard enough that his big frame rocked forward.

“No! You don’t…you don’t get to do this!” Her voice cracked open, raw and furious, echoing off the pines. “You don’t get to stand here in this place and tell me you’re a monster and then expect me to nod like a good little girl and walk away! I know what you are, Cal Meridian. I’ve seen the blood. I’ve seen the rage.”