Chapter 36 Unsaid
Unsaid
Savannah woke to the warmth of Chase’s body pressed against hers, his arm draped lazily over her waist, his steady breath fanning against the back of her neck.
For a fleeting moment—a beautiful, cruel moment—she let herself forget.
She let herself pretend.
Pretend that this was just another morning wrapped up in him, tangled in sheets that smelled like him, like them. Pretend that when the sun crept higher in the sky, when the world outside their little bubble stirred awake, she wouldn’t have to leave.
But pretending didn’t stop time.
The weight of it settled over her like a storm cloud, thick and suffocating, pressing down on her chest until she could barely breathe.
Her stomach twisted, the sharp pang of reality cutting through the illusion, shattering the fragile what if she had dared to hold onto for just a little while longer.
Today.
Today, she was leaving.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the moment to last longer, to stretch time, to trap them in this bed forever. If she didn’t move, if she didn’t acknowledge it, maybe the universe would grant her mercy and let this morning continue indefinitely.
And for just a little while longer, she could let herself believe this wasn’t the last time she’d wake up beside him.
But reality had never been kind.
She shifted just slightly, and immediately, Chase stirred behind her. His arm tensed around her waist, his body pressing closer, as if—even in sleep—he knew.
As if some part of him could feel her slipping away.
His lips brushed against her bare shoulder, warm, lingering, the softest graze of his mouth over her skin before he murmured in a sleep-roughened voice,
"Stay."
Savannah froze.
Her breath caught, her fingers tightening around the sheets.
Chase never asked for anything.
Not like this.
Not raw and bare and aching.
Her heart clenched, her pulse a slow, painful thud against her ribs as she stared at the wall, as she tried to hold herself together when every part of her was already breaking.
She wanted to say yes.
God, she wanted to say yes.
But she couldn’t.
Because if she let herself believe—even for a second—that staying was an option, she wouldn’t be strong enough to leave.
And she had to.
Didn’t she?
Savannah turned in his arms, shifting until she was facing him, until she could take in every inch of him.
His dark hair, mussed from sleep, the sleepy weight in his deep green eyes, the rough stubble shadowing his jaw, the way his lips parted slightly as he blinked at her.
God, he was beautiful.
And she was breaking.
Chase reached up, his fingers tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, his touch unbearably gentle.
"I meant it," he murmured, his voice gravelly and raw.
"Stay with me, Savannah."
Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she squeezed them shut, willing them away.
She couldn’t do this.
She couldn’t.
Her throat tightened, the ache so sharp it stole her breath.
"Chase…"
His brows furrowed.
And he knew.
He knew she wasn’t going to give him the answer he wanted.
He knew she was still planning to walk away.
His jaw tightened, his hand flexing against her hip, his body going rigid for a fraction of a second—
But he didn’t argue.
Didn’t beg.
Didn’t demand.
Instead—he kissed her.
And it was different.
It wasn’t teasing.
It wasn’t playful.
It wasn’t rushed or frantic or driven by desperate need.
This was slow.
Unyielding.
A kiss meant to destroy her.
A kiss meant to break her.
His hands slid over her back, pulling her closer, closer, holding onto her like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
She kissed him back just as fiercely, poured everything into it—every unspoken word, every aching plea, every bit of love she was too scared to say aloud.
But no matter how hard she tried,
No matter how much she gave,
It wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
And when she pulled away, when she whispered the words that tore her apart, she hated herself.
"I can’t."
Chase exhaled sharply, his grip on her tightening like he was trying to hold on, to keep her here.
But he didn’t argue.
Didn’t say anything at all.
And that—
That was worse.
Because she could feel what he wasn’t saying.
And it fucking hurt.
His fingers flexed against her waist, his forehead pressing against hers for just a beat, just long enough for her to hear the uneven hitch of his breath, just long enough for her to feel the weight of everything hanging between them.
His lips brushed over hers once, twice—soft, slow, like he was trying to memorize the shape of them, the taste of her, the feel of her before she was gone.
Her chest ached.
Her ribs ached.
Her soul ached.
"Tell me I won’t forget this," he murmured, his voice so quiet it was barely a whisper, barely anything at all.
Savannah’s throat tightened as she cupped his face, her thumbs skimming over the rough stubble of his jaw, memorizing him the way he was memorizing her.
"You won’t," she whispered.
And she wasn’t sure if she was saying it for him—
Or for herself.
Because how do you forget something like this?
How do you walk away from something that feels like it’s carved into your bones, something that lives inside of you?
How do you leave when your heart is still here?
She swallowed back the sob threatening to escape and pressed one last kiss to his lips.
And when she finally pulled away,
When she finally sat up,
When she finally forced herself out of the bed and away from him,
She didn’t look back.
Because if she did,
She wouldn’t go at all.