Reid
The empty space beside him mocked him.
He dragged a hand over his face, letting it fall back against the mattress. The sheets were cool where they should have been warm. There was no shifting beside him. No soft breath against his shoulder. No murmured half-thoughts drifting between sleep and waking.
That was good. He was glad.
No more lies from her.
No more false intimacy designed to keep him close, to keep him useful. No more late-night conversations where she coaxed details out of him under the guise of interest, where she listened so attentively.
God.
Her pillow still smelled like her.
He shifted onto his side, restless, unable to settle in a position. She used to fit here, slotted against him, like she belonged.
Reid let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh if there had been anything remotely funny about it.
He had handed her everything. Every detail about how investigations worked. He’d talked about his job, he hadn’t held back.
God, he’d thought she respected him.
Respected what he did.
Reid’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking faintly.
None of it was real.
He opened his eyes again, fixing his gaze on the ceiling.
The transfers were real.
The hidden accounts in her name.
Money didn’t move on its own. The evidence was clear.
Indisputable.
He had done the right thing.
He turned his head away from the empty side of the bed, pressing it back into the pillow.
He could have covered for her.
His heart beat faster.
It would have been simple.
He could have protected her.
She would still be here. She would have come home with him, buzzing from the Roll & Run, that familiar, intoxicating energy he loved.
She would have told him about the turnout, about who had shown up, about all the small things that she noticed.
He would have listened. He would have cared.
He always listened. He always cared.
He’d known Maya was out of his league as soon as he’d met her.
Did it matter if she hadn’t loved him? He would have been a good husband to her, anyway.
He could have loved her enough for both of them.
Given her a life that worked. Given her stability, space, support. Whatever she needed. Whatever she asked for.
Maybe, over time—
Reid’s jaw tightened.
He stared up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused.
He could have made it work. Maybe in time she would have fallen in love with him despite it all.
Reid closed his eyes briefly, then they snapped open.
What if he’d already won her over?
No.
Reid turned his head sharply against the pillow, as if the movement could dislodge the idea.
That was absurd.
Women like Maya didn’t love men like him. He’d been lying to himself to ever think otherwise.
For a moment—just a moment—he let himself imagine the path he didn’t take.
She’d never have to know he’d done it.
She would be here with him now.
Her weight against him. Warm. Familiar. The way she fit against his side, as if it was where she belonged. Her hand resting lightly against his chest, her breath evening out as she drifted toward sleep.
His fingers curled tightly into his palms.
He forced himself to look at the empty space beside him. This was his life now. A life without Maya.
He’d done the right thing.