Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
Two days had passed since the proposal.
Bea hadn’t really slept. Or eaten.
Now he was here.
She was curled up on the edge of her couch, knees pulled tight to her chest. Gage sat across from her, legs apart, forearms resting on his thighs.
He hadn’t touched her. Not a brush, not a hand to her back.
The silence stretched, then cracked.
“I need more time,” she said.
Gage’s head was down, gaze fixed on the space between his hands. “Time for what?”
“To grow up,” she said softly. “I love you, Gage. I wanted to say yes. I tried. But…”
His head lifted. His eyes met hers. “You’re not ready.”
Bea nodded once. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Gage leaned back against the couch, tilting his head toward the ceiling. “Bea. That’s not how this works.”
“It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.”
“It does.” The way he said it made her flinch.
“I could visit,” she said, grasping. “We could make it work.”
Gage exhaled, dragging a hand down his face before looking at her again. “I’ve been working sixty-hour weeks since I graduated. London will only get worse. And you’d be here.”
“I can make it work,” she whispered.
His throat bobbed. “You think I can fly back and forth?”
Bea blinked. “I—”
“Sweetheart…” He shook his head slowly, his voice rasping. “You think I can fly sixteen hours every other weekend, because I miss you?”
It was cruel. And true.
Her arms folded around her stomach, as she tried to hold herself together. “So…what? That’s it?”
There was a war in his eyes. She saw it. Felt it. And still, he didn’t move.
Because he was Gage….and Gage didn’t break.
“You’re not the one who has to decide, Bea. I already did.”
Bea felt it then. The slow, sickening tear of something that had once been whole. A future slipping through her fingers.
“Don’t do this,” she choked. “Please.”
Gage didn’t move. Like movement itself might shatter him. “I have to.”
Her vision blurred. She wanted to be selfish. To find a way to blame him for letting her go too easily.
But she didn’t. Because she loved him.
She wouldn’t ask him to be less than he was. And he didn’t deserve to be resented for the life he’d laid at her feet.
A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t move to wipe it away.
Gage’s fingers twitched, just barely. Like he wanted to reach for her, but he didn’t.
“You can’t just decide for me.”
“I didn’t.” He met her eyes. “You did.”
This time, the silence stayed.
It came into focus all at once: love wasn’t the problem. It just wasn’t enough.
So they sat there. In the place where their love had always felt so sure.
And watched it break.
GAGE
Gage didn’t go home. He just drove.
Nowhere in particular, just through the streets of St. Ives—past shuttered cafés, cobblestones, gabled rooftops leaning into the night.
Past everything unchanged. Except the one thing that was.
Bea had cried. And he had done nothing. Just sat there, watching, feeling every tear like a blade. Knowing there was nothing he could say to make it better.
She needed time. He didn’t have it to give.
His fingers clenched the steering wheel. His mind fought through the haze, through to the truth: it was never going to end any other way.
He had known. Maybe not from the start. But somewhere along the way, their paths—once parallel—had started to drift. Inch by inch. Until they were moving forward…just not together.
She wanted to go. For him. But not for herself.
And in the end, that hadn’t been enough.
Gage exhaled and loosened his grip, one finger at a time. The streets blurred past him in streaks of gold and navy, but he barely registered them.
All he could see was her face. All he could hear was the way her voice had cracked when she asked if they could try.
He wanted to say yes. Because he loved her. Because he had never wanted anything the way he wanted her.
But Bea wasn’t built for a relationship that existed in the in-between.
And he wasn’t built to stay.
He turned onto a quieter road and cracked the window. The warm air sliced through the silence.
His phone buzzed in the center console. He didn’t check it. He already knew who it wouldn’t be.
Bea wouldn’t call. She wouldn’t change her mind.
No fracture, no bleeding. Just an unrelenting ache behind his sternum.
So this was heartbreak.
The image surfaced, uninvited: the chess set, boxed and packed. Its white queen hung from her neck.
Without her, the game was unplayable.
Gage dragged a hand down his face. His palm came away damp.
He sat there. In the silence. In the wreckage of almost. Knowing there was nothing left to fix.
For the first time in his life, there was no strategy. Only loss. So he let himself feel it. For one night, he let himself break. Because tomorrow, he’d get on a plane.
And he wouldn’t come back.
Three days.
It had been three days since Gage had walked out of her life. Gotten onto a plane, and left for the other side of the world.
Now Bea sat on the edge of her bed, hands idle in her lap, like she’d forgotten what came next.
The soft knock at the door broke through the fog. Georgina stood in the doorway, concern written all over her face.
For the past three days, she hadn’t pushed for details. Hadn’t demanded explanations. She just…watched. Like she knew.
Bea hadn’t told her. Hadn’t told anyone. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
“Hey,” Georgina said, hesitating. “Gage’s people are here.”
Bea froze.
The words landed like a memory. One from the version of her life that still had him in it. When Gage had arranged for people to pack and move her things, temporarily, to her apartment with Lillian.
For a second, the world felt too still.
Then her chest tightened, her breath hitching in her throat, and she barely managed to shake her head. “No.”
Georgina’s brows knit together. “Bea—”
“I can’t,” she whispered.
The pressure collapsed on her. She curled forward, pressing her palms against her face, shoulders shaking.
Georgina was at her side in an instant, crouching beside her. “You don’t have to explain.”
But she wanted to.
She wanted to say the words that had been choking her for the past three days.
He offered me a life.
I couldn’t say yes.
And now he’s gone.
But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, she gasped for breath. Pressed her forehead to her knees. And let Georgie smooth her hair.
Late that night, after Georgina had gone to bed and the apartment had gone still, Bea sat on the floor of her room, laptop open.
All of her things were boxed. Most of them had already been moved to the new place in Northgate.
But she couldn’t stay there. She couldn’t even stay here.
She needed to go home.
Not because it would fix anything. Because it was far, far away.
She selected the date. The time. Clicked Continue.
REMINDER | You are currently registered under Tier 4 in accordance with the Social Proximity Law.
To proceed with international travel, ensure you have override clearance or confirmation from your linked party before you submit your booking.
Failure to do so may result in delays. | Note: This is a reminder only.
No alert has been sent to your linked party.
Bea stared at it. It was only her second encounter with this message. Last time, her response had been shock. This time, it was anguish.
She was still linked with him. Even when everything had changed.
How could she possibly go to him now? How could she ask to leave the life she’d already broken?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Then, slowly, she reached for her phone.
She hadn’t opened it in days. Dozens of messages. Missed calls. She scrolled past all of them. Until she saw it.
GAGE: In case you need it: [override code attached].
The breath left her lungs like something punched it out.
He’d known. Before she’d even tried.
He hadn’t made her ask.
The sob ripped through her. From her chest, from her stomach, from the part of her that still loved him like breathing. She slapped a hand over her mouth, as if she could trap the sound.
He understood her, even now.
She shattered for him. For them.
And everything they could’ve been.