Chapter 1 #2
I try, and fail, not to flinch. It’s not what he says, it’s how he says it. Like I’m an intrusion rather than the woman who once knew every corner of his heart.
“Hello to you, too,” I reply with a forced smile. “Can I come in for a minute? I’m on my way to the airport but wanted to check in with you.”
His words are slurred. “I don’t need a babysitter, Bree. Besides, I don’t know why you’re showing up here acting like you care when you packed your shit and left.”
This is going exactly how I feared. Great.
I step inside anyway, the door closing behind me with a click that seems louder than it is. The air is thick with the sour tang of old beer and neglect as I follow Dillon to the couch, my heart sinking farther with every step.
“Oh, Dillon…”
The living room is a disaster. Empty bottles are scattered across every surface, the remnants of nights spent hiding from memories.
This place used to be filled with so much laughter and love.
It’s hard to remember now, with the mess and ruin surrounding me.
It’s just a shell of what it once was, much like the man slumped before me, as if he’s not really here at all.
“I’m not here to babysit you,” I say gently, lowering myself into the armchair across from him. “I just came to see how you’re doing.”
He snorts. “I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need you playing hero.”
I wince at his words, sharp despite their slurred delivery. “Dillon, we both know that isn’t what this is. I love you, always, but watching you destroy yourself is tearing me apart. I can’t keep pretending like it’s not happening…and standing by while you throw everything away.”
“Then don’t watch,” he mutters, his voice low and bitter. “Just go. That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? Leaving when things get tough?”
His accusation hits me like a slap, and for a second, I’m stunned.
The irony is almost laughable. I want to shout, to throw every sacrifice, every sleepless night, every damn time I chose to stay right back in his face.
Instead, I swallow it down, forcing myself to keep calm and hold the pieces together for just a little longer.
“That’s not fair. I’ve been here, trying to help you for months. Years. But you have to want to help yourself, too.”
His face twists with sudden rage. “Help me? You call walking out helping me? If you really wanted to help, you’d have stayed.”
My heart feels too big for my chest, pounding like it’s trying to escape, like maybe it wants to take me away from this house and this man I used to love so fiercely I would’ve cracked myself in half just to keep him whole.
I push myself up from the chair. “I’ve made my decision.
” The words are stones in my throat, but they need to be said.
“I think it’s time we let go. I can’t keep holding on like this, and I think you know that, too.
” I pause, looking down and finding it hard to meet his eyes.
“I need to move on, and I think you do, too.”
For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then everything happens at once.
He lunges forward, his hand seizing my wrist in a jarring grip that sends a lightning-bolt ache shooting up to my elbow. He’s never touched me like this before.
His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide. I don’t think he even sees me. “So that’s it? You’re just done for good?”
“Dillon,” I say, careful to keep my voice gentle and even. “You’re hurting me.”
For a second, there’s a flash of the old Dillon in his eyes, the one who used to hold my hand like it was something delicate.
I twist my arm as he loosens his grip. The sudden release sends me backward, and I stumble, hip catching the edge of the table with a crack of bone on wood. I hit the floor, and for a heartbeat, I can’t speak. Can’t think. I just stare up at him in stunned silence.
His expression morphs, the anger draining out of him. “Bree…” he whispers, horrified. “I-I didn’t mean—”
I push myself upright, wincing at the jolt in my leg and the throbbing in my wrist. “Dillon…” I whisper, not sure who I’m talking to anymore. The man I loved has to be in there somewhere, but right now, I can’t afford to look for him.
He steps toward me, hand half lifted like he’s going to help me up. Something inside me jerks hard. My breath sticks in my throat, and I flinch before I even know I’m doing it.
“Don’t.” My voice breaks, barely more than a breath. “Please…don’t.”
His hand drops. He turns away like the sight of me hurts and sinks back onto the couch. “Bree, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“I know,” I say. And I do. That’s what makes this situation so dangerous.
I stand on legs that don’t want to hold me, every inch of me screaming to get out of the room. He doesn’t follow. Doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t beg. And I don’t look back. Not when I reach the door. Not when I close it behind me with a quiet click that feels too gentle for what just happened.
It’s only in the car, behind the wheel with my hands trembling against the leather, that the first tear slips free. Just one. I wipe it away and force myself to sit up straighter. I’ve got a plane to catch.
I’ll fall apart later.