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“It’s an amazing opportunity, Claire. Put your PhD to use. It means you still get to do what you love. You still get to work with these women and children, but while taking a step back.”
I don’t want a fucking step back.
“That means giving up my job at the shelter. It means giving up everything here.” I don’t look at him, but he knows. And it slowly kills me when he doesn’t open his mouth. “You’re sending me away.”
“We’re not sending you away, dear.” She takes my hand. I want to back away from her touch, but I don’t have the heart to reject her. “I was there. All those years ago when you were a scared fourteen-year-old girl. You fought, and you came through. You just need to fight again. You won’t be able to do that here. You give too much of your heart away to others and you’ll do so much of that at the shelter. Take the time with your mother to heal physically. The rest you can figure out while you’re doing something you love.”
It should bring me comfort. It should ease the heavy knot in my stomach. But I feel sick.
I shrug as I stand, the hurt and anger building so much I think my heart is breaking in two. “It doesn’t give me much of a choice, does it?” I squeeze Nora’s hand, stopping only once as I walk away to look at Jake.
He looks away.
I die a little inside.
“I need to finish packing.”
***
It’s funny how I can pack up what seems like a lifetime into a suitcase. A suitcase that has been staring at me for weeks. A constant reminder that my time here isn’t permanent.
I knew I would have to leave. I never thought it would be under these circumstances.
A part of me is attached to this house, and its pull is so strong, it’s a punishment to tear myself away.
I laughed in this house, I cried, I played, I had mind-blowing sex, I fought, and I fell so hopelessly in love with the man occupying it.
My greedy heart doesn’t want to leave.
I don’t want to go back to a house that was only ever shaded in black clouds. But I need to. I need to face and battle old demons before I ever wage war against the new ones.
And I think my mother needs to see me breathe as much as I need to witness her getting better.
I still have my voice. I made sure of it. Jake made sure I didn’t give up on it.
It’s a start.
At least I can talk myself out of the dark depths and try to convince myself of brighter days—days when the world is in color.
A hand comes down on my suitcase, slamming it shut. I jump, so lost in my thoughts I didn’t hear him come in here.
“Don’t leave like this,” he demands. His voice coats over me, and the instant tug at my chest makes me want to curl up. He pinches my chin between his fingers. “Look at me.”
I meet his gaze, feeling my heart hardening with every second. “I don’t have a problem with looking at you, Jake. Can you say the same?”
His grip softens. I can see the fight in him—the want to keep our eye contact but it wavers and drops to my throat.
“I thought as much.”
If guilt were a person, it would be Jake.
Pain has made the dent between his brow a constant fixture and there’s always tension across his broad chest. His wounds are so raw, I can almost see the peeling flesh and the agony that lies beneath.
But the distance in him makes the air between us cold.
“What is it, Jake? Have I passed the threshold of broken and damaged for you to fuck me?”
Now he looks at me. And I hate it. It’s nothing like how it used to be. There’s very little warmth in those amber eyes.
