40 #5
His body went cold.
“You packed?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before dinner.”
He stepped back.
The space between them felt sudden and huge.
“You were going to tell me when?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“After I read that?” he asked, voice quiet in a way that made her flinch. “After you let me kiss you?”
Her face twisted. “Gordon.”
“You wrote all that about belonging and staying, and your bags were already in your car?”
Pain flashed across her face.
“It’s for the best,” she said.
The words struck like a slap.
Gordon laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“For the best.”
“I have to go back.”
“No. You choose to.”
“My job is in Houston.”
“Your editor may not even publish the article.”
“That doesn’t mean I can stay here.”
“Why not?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Gordon waited, heart pounding.
“Why not, Talia?”
She looked away.
That was answer enough.
He nodded slowly, though nothing inside him accepted it.
“You told me when the article was finished, you were going home,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I heard you.”
“I know.”
“But I thought…” He stopped, jaw tightening.
He would not beg.
He had begged people to love him silently for most of his life. He had begged his father by being quiet. Begged his brothers by surviving. Begged Bettie by being no trouble. Begged the world by trying to make himself useful enough to keep.
He would not beg Talia.
She reached for him.
“Gordon.”
He stepped back.
Her hand dropped, but she tried again, moving closer. “Please.”
He stepped out of reach.
“Don’t.”
Her eyes filled. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But you did.”
The words were plain.
They landed hard.
She looked like they had cut her.
Good.
No.
Not good.
He hated that he wanted her to feel even a fraction of what he felt. He hated that love could turn sharp this fast.
“I was honest with you,” she whispered. “I told you I was going back to Houston.”
“And I told you I wanted you here.”
“I know.”
“And you let me think maybe that meant something.”
“It did mean something.”
“Not enough.”
She swallowed.
He nodded once.
That was the truth then.
Not enough.
Gordon looked at her for one last second, memorizing her against his better judgment.
Her eyes bright with tears. Her mouth trembling.
The woman who had seen him clearly enough to write his soul onto paper, but not clearly enough to understand that leaving him with those words hurt worse than any scandal piece could have.
“You should just go,” he said.
Her face crumpled.
“Gordon, don’t do this.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m letting you leave.”
She reached for him one more time.
He backed away, shaking his head.
“Goodbye, Talia.”
Then he turned and walked out through the back door of Luke’s office before she could answer.
The night air hit him hard.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Gordon did not stop.
He did not know where he was going. Away. That was all. Away from the office, away from the article, away from the woman he loved who had packed her bags before dinner and still let him hope.
Inside the office, Talia stood frozen.
For a moment, she could not move.
Her hands were still half-raised, reaching for someone who had stepped away from her.
Her heart hurt.
Not in a poetic way.
In a physical way, sharp and crushing, like something inside her chest had folded wrong.
She had known this would be difficult.
She had told herself that all afternoon.
This was always the deal.
She had said from the beginning that when the article was finished, she would go home. Gordon would get over her. He was young. Beautiful. Strong. Loved by this ranch in ways he did not even understand yet.
He would find someone else.
Someone closer.
Someone easier.
Someone who could stay without feeling as if she had abandoned her whole life.
Her conscience answered with one cruel question.
And what will you find?
Talia closed her eyes.
She had no answer.
Her apartment in Houston waited. Her career waited. Martin waited. Patrice would ask how she was, and Talia would lie because there would be no language for what she had done.
She had written the truth about Gordon and then wounded him with her own fear.
She wiped quickly beneath her eyes, angry at the tears. Crying now felt selfish. She had made the choice. She did not get to collapse because it hurt.
She gathered the remaining copies of the article with shaking hands and put them into her bag. Gordon’s copy remained on Luke’s desk where he had left it.
She could not make herself touch it.
Talia straightened her spine.
Then she left the office.
The hallway seemed longer than it had before. Every photograph on the wall felt like an accusation. Every warm light made her feel like she was walking out of a home she had no right to want.
When she reached the kitchen, Edye and Luke were there.
Elise was near the stove, though her hands had gone still. Earl sat at the table, his eyes moving to Talia’s face and then to Luke’s.
They knew.
Of course they knew.
Maybe not the details, but enough.
Talia forced herself to stand tall.
“I’m leaving,” she said.
Edye’s expression tightened.
Luke’s jaw hardened.
Talia gripped the strap of her bag. “Someone will have to let me out when I get to the gate.”
No one spoke for a second.
Elise looked like she wanted to say something, but Earl reached over and placed his hand gently over hers.
Talia could not stay in that silence.
Not without breaking.
She turned toward the door before her emotions got the best of her.