Chapter 21-Esme
I knew it wouldn’t last.
That little bubble we’d been floating in?
Yeah.
I knew it was fragile.
Too bright.
Too perfect.
Too us.
But I didn’t think it would shatter like that.
Not with one sentence.
Not with one cold, clinical truth that stripped everything we’d been clinging to down to nothing.
Never married.
The words don’t just echo—they linger.
Like smoke in my lungs.
Like something toxic I can’t quite breathe out.
I press my forehead against the cool glass of the truck window, watching the world smear past in long, sun-bleached streaks of highway and sky.
The land out here is endless.
Flat in some places, rolling in others, fields stretching so far they blur into the horizon like they’re trying to escape themselves.
It should feel peaceful.
Expansive.
Free.
Instead?
It makes me feel small.
Like I’ve been driving in circles for years and only just realized it.
God.
I’ve been such a fool.
Not just a fool.
A full-on, heart-on-my-sleeve, believe-in-fairytales kind of idiot.
Three years.
Three years of grief.
Three years of carrying around the weight of a marriage I thought I lost.
Three years of telling myself I’d been abandoned, betrayed, discarded.
And now?
Now I find out it wasn’t even real.
A broken laugh trembles in my chest, but I swallow it down before it can escape.
Because it’s not funny.
It’s humiliating.
It’s devastating.
It’s hollow.
Like someone reached inside me and scooped something out.
I close my eyes.
“Stop,” I whisper, barely audible over the hum of the engine.
Because if I let myself go there—if I really start pulling at that thread—I’m going to unravel completely.
And I don’t think I have the strength to put myself back together again.
Not this time.
Last night?
God.
Last night was a mistake.
Or maybe it wasn’t.
That’s the worst part.
I don’t even know anymore.
All I know is I cried myself to sleep.
Curled up in that too-small bed, the sheets twisted around me like they could hold me together when everything inside me was falling apart.
My chest hurt.
My head hurt.
My heart?
My heart felt like it was being dragged across broken glass.
And Benji?
I don’t know where he went.
Didn’t hear him come back.
Didn’t feel him beside me.
Just emptiness.
Just silence.
Just me.
Again.
That part?
That part felt real.
That part always feels real.
This morning was worse.
Because it was quiet.
Too quiet.
He was already in the truck when Alex came to get me.
Already dressed.
Already composed.
Like nothing had happened.
Like we hadn’t just—I cut the thought off, hard.
Because I can’t go there.
Not right now.
Not when my throat still burns from crying.
Alex carried my bag without a word.
Didn’t look at me.
Didn’t ask anything.
Just did what he was told.
And Benji?
He didn’t say good morning.
Didn’t ask how I was.
Didn’t look at me.
Just waited.
Like always.
Steady.
Controlled.
Untouchable.
I slide into the passenger seat, the leather warm from the sun, the air inside thick with silence and something unspoken.
I buckle my seatbelt automatically.
Click.
The sound feels louder than it should.
Final.
He waits.
Of course he does.
Benji doesn’t move that truck until everyone’s secured.
It’s one of those things about him.
Unyielding.
Consistent.
Reliable.
Things that don’t change, no matter what else does.
I pull my earbuds from my pocket and slip them in before I can think about it.
Before I can look at him.
Before I can say something I’ll regret.
Or worse—something I mean.
The narrator’s voice wraps around me like a lifeline, smooth and familiar, pulling me into a world that makes more sense than this one ever has.
Witches.
Shifters.
Fated mates.
Love that defies everything.
It’s ridiculous.
Over-the-top.
Completely unrealistic.
I fucking love it.
And right now?
It’s the only thing keeping me from breaking.
Because I don’t want to think about reality.
Don’t want to think about how I built my life around a lie.
Don’t want to think about how I let one man become my entire world.
How I let him define me.
Break me.
Still affect me.
The truck hums beneath me, steady and sure, the road stretching out endlessly ahead like it doesn’t care where we’re going as long as we keep moving.
And eventually—my body gives in.
Exhaustion pulls me under, heavy and deep, like I’ve been holding myself together for too long and something finally snapped.
I sleep.
Hard.
Dreamless.
When I wake up, something feels off.
The light is different.
Brighter.
Harsher.
And there’s noise.
So much noise.
“Wake up, Sweetheart.”
His voice is softer than I expect.
Close.
Careful.
Like he’s approaching something fragile.
I blink, disoriented, my head thick with sleep, my body slow to catch up.
Neon flashes across the window.
Red.
Blue.
Gold.
It burns against my eyes.
I sit up too fast, the seatbelt catching me, pressing into my chest and throat until I gasp.
“Easy,” he says, already leaning over, his hand brushing mine as he unclips it. “You okay?”
But I’m not listening.
Because I’m staring out the window.
And my brain is trying to catch up with what I’m seeing.
Lights.
Endless lights.
Crowds.
Movement.
Energy.
“Vegas?” I whisper, my voice cracking.
I turn to him, heart suddenly racing.
“Benji, why are we in Vegas?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Just opens the door and steps out like this is normal.
Like this makes sense.
Like we didn’t just drive halfway across the country without me realizing it.
“Because,” he says, rounding the front of the truck, his voice rougher now, edged with something I can’t quite name, “three and a half years ago, someone fucked up.”
My stomach drops.
“And we’re here to fix it.”
The world tilts.
Just a little.
Enough to make me feel unsteady.
He opens my door.
Holds out his hand.
And for a second—I just stare at him.
Because he looks… Christ.
He looks unreal.
Like a movie star cowboy come to life.
The neon lights catch on his face, carving him into something sharper, harder, almost larger than life.
His shoulders seem broader.
His presence is heavier.
Like he’s not just a man standing in front of me—but something bigger.
Something inevitable.
Something I was always going to come back to no matter how far I ran.
Beautiful.
Untouchable.
Dangerous to love.
My heart stutters.
Because I know better.
I know how this ends.
I know what it feels like to lose him.
And still—against my better judgement—I take his hand.
Like I don’t have a choice.
Like maybe I never did.
“What is Alex doing?” I manage, my voice distant even to my own ears.
“He’s taking the truck back,” Benji says, already moving, already pulling me into motion.
Away from the only thing that feels stable.
Toward something unknown.
“What?” I blink. “And what are we doing?”
He stops.
Just long enough to turn back to me.
Those blue eyes locking onto mine like they’re trying to anchor me in place.
“I told you already, we’re taking care of business, Ezzy.”
My pulse spikes.
Something deep and instinctive reacting to the way he says it.
The certainty.
The finality.
The decision.
“Now come on,” he adds, tightening his grip on my hand. “We’ve got an appointment to keep.”
And just like that—I know.
Whatever happens next?
It’s not small.
It’s not simple.
And it’s definitely not safe.
But neither is loving him.
And that never stopped me before.