Chapter Twelve #2
“I’m arranging a live interview with the BBC for next week—we’ll of course prep you thoroughly, but Kit—Lord Christopher—I wanted to make sure you’ll be available.”
Kit nods, not looking at me. “I’ll make it work.”
“Lovely,” she says. “Miss Bright, Lord Christopher, I’ll speak with you soon. Doyle, I look forward to continuing this delightful verbal brawl over email.”
As soon as we’ve all disconnected, I turn to Kit, my mind still racing. Movie. Live interview. Flight. “What was she talking about?”
Even though he didn’t bring anything with him to the table, he glances around our shared space, as if searching for his things. “I, er—I’ve decided to head back to Oxford,” he says. “I’ve already missed too much of this term, and I’d rather not have to repeat it.”
A block of ice forms in the pit of my stomach. “I don’t understand,” I say, but he rises to his feet, his hand leaving mine, and panic surges through me. “Kit—I’m not—whatever this is really about, can we please talk—”
“I was going to tell you.” He finally meets my gaze again, his brown eyes full of something I’m too afraid to name.
“Yesterday morning, right before Stephens interrupted us, I was about to tell you that I texted Singh. I couldn’t sleep, and all I could think about was losing our one chance to finish this, and what might happen if they came after you again—what almost did happen, and—” He rakes his hair back in a defeated gesture.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before I did it, but I couldn’t make myself wait another moment, not with your life on the line.
I’m done, Ev. I’m sorry I’m not strong enough to stay, then or now, but even being here…
seeing you so upset, knowing it’s my bloody fault that Ben is still free to do what he pleases…
” He rubs his face. “I’m sorry. I need—a break. Space. Please.”
I stare at him, rooted to my seat. “A break?”
“Just for a little while. To get my head on straight. To—I don’t know. Recalibrate. To stop feeling like this. Like everything is a threat, even—”
He shuts his mouth before he can finish that sentence, but a sickening feeling washes over me, and I know exactly what he was going to say.
Even you.
There’s a knife in my chest now, buried so deep that I’m amazed my heart is still beating.
This is what the end looks like. No shouting matches, no blowouts, no long-drawn-out feuds.
Just two days of torture, and then this.
A break. Space. A girl who makes him laugh that isn’t me, and heartache that will never go away.
I know he truly intends for it to be a break, but I also know what it really means when people say they’ll keep in touch.
“Okay,” I say, so softly I can barely hear myself speak. I stand to join him, but there’s a chasm between us now that only grows wider with each passing moment. “When…?”
“Term ends on the ninth of March,” he says, and my insides twist. That’s more than a month from now.
“Can I visit?” I say, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I know his answer. Kit reaches for my hand, squeezing it with shattering gentleness.
“Let’s play it by ear. I’m not in a good place right now, and I don’t want to…say anything or…do anything that might…”
He trails off, and I don’t know what he thinks he could possibly say or do around me that he might regret. But then the sight of our bedroom in Oxford flashes through my mind, with all of his things smashed to pieces, even though mine remained untouched.
He heads toward the door, and it’s only then that I notice his suitcase tucked into a corner. The sight of it rings like a bell in my head, making this all too real, and my heart pounds.
“Wait,” I gasp, hurrying after him. Kit obediently turns back, and suddenly I see his weariness. I see the fear etched into every faint line and furrow of his skin. And in his soft sigh, I hear the terrible truth—that I’m the one causing so much of this agony.
Tears prickle in my eyes. If I don’t say something right now, I know—I know I will lose him, as sure as I know that the sky is blue and the English drink way too much tea. So I open my mouth and let the words tumble out.
“I’m sorry,” I croak. “For everything. For getting into that van. For falling for some ridiculous setup. For not telling Singh about the tracker the moment I got back to the flat. For wanting to stay longer and put you—put both of us in even more danger—”
“There’s no need to apologize.” Kit cups the uninjured side of my jaw, his thumb stroking my cheek, and the way he stares into my eyes is devastating.
“You want to stop Ben from hurting the people you love, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
I just…” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
I love you, Ev. I always will, more than my own life.
But it isn’t supposed to hurt like this. ”
I always will. Like this really is the end.
Another invisible string connecting us severs, and my stomach lurches, threatening to bring up my breakfast. “Okay,” I manage again, but this time it comes out small and broken. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be—” he begins, but I cut him off, because it’s either that or burst into tears, and suddenly I can’t stand the idea of him seeing me cry.
“Text me when you get there,” I say shakily. “Or—Tibby. Text Tibby. My phone…” I trail off. Another reminder of why this is happening. “I’ll see you in March.”
“Evan…” Kit moves toward me, trying to close the distance, but I step back.
I don’t want to hurt him more than I already have, but if I don’t find the connection between Ben and the Abr, then my bloodthirsty prince of a cousin will never stop coming after me.
After my parents. After Kit and everyone I love.
And Ben will get away with murder—literally.
But now I know it will also cost me the best thing in my life, and those two facts can’t fit together in my mind, like two puzzle pieces that are both the wrong shape and size.
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes despite my resistance, and I brush them away. Kit reaches for me again, but his hand stops half an inch from my face. Close enough to feel his warmth, but not his touch.
“Just give me time,” he says softly. “That’s all I ask.”
“Okay,” I repeat. He frowns, and I know it’s not what he was hoping to hear, but it’s all I can say.
“I love you,” he says again, all sincerity and faith, and this, at least, gets a tiny, trembling smile out of me. It’s true, but now I know it isn’t enough.
“I love you, too. More than my own life,” I say, echoing his earlier words. It’s also true, and it was always enough, or at least I thought it was. But now I know it’s the fatal flaw between us.
He hesitates, and before either of us steps away, he leans down and brushes his lips against my cheek in another chaste kiss. That’s all it is, but it devastates me to my core. Because now I know it really means goodbye.
He doesn’t say it, though. Instead, he picks up his suitcase and gives me one last, long look before stepping out the door. And though every cell in my body screams at me to follow, I stay glued to the rug with the puppy at my heel as he leaves, taking any chance I have at real happiness with him.