Chapter 29
twenty-nine
brEE
The week vanishes in a blur, leaving me with our last morning together before Callan heads back home.
There’s a sadness in his eyes he isn’t trying to hide, and it makes me want to drop everything and jump into his arms right this second.
I reach across the table, my hand finding his like it was made for this exact purpose. His fingers weave through mine, and I grip them like they’re the only anchor in a very unsteady world. “I’ll try to visit soon,” I whisper, mostly to convince myself.
His thumb sweeps over my knuckles, a touch that feels like a promise, even though it carries the weight of goodbye.
“I’ll hold you to that, lass,” he says, his voice thick with that accent I can never resist.
Soon can’t come fast enough, which is wild, because for weeks I’ve been pretending I don’t know what this is. The truth is sitting heavy on my tongue, waiting for its moment. I’m in love with him.
The second that realization clicks into place, I start spiraling through all the how the hell do I say this without ruining everything scenarios.
Option one: just blurt it out. “I’m in love with you. Do you love me back?” Simple. Direct. And…painfully awkward. It would be like ripping off a bandage, but holy hell, that’s gonna sting.
Option two: soften the blow, make it less of a thing. Casually drop it into conversation like it’s no big deal. “Oh, by the way, I’m in love with you. But it’s fine, right? Totally normal, no pressure!”
Option three: ask to go home with him. Like, really plead. Maybe throw in a dramatic, “I can’t live without you,” for full effect.
Before I can say any of it, my phone buzzes against the wooden table. It’s just a text, but when I glance at the screen, everything shifts.
Dillon.
My stomach lurches. My pulse stutters, then kicks up in a way I really don’t like. For a moment, I just stare, frozen in a split second of denial, as if ignoring it might erase the fact that he’s reaching out at all.
“What’s wrong?” Callan’s voice pulls me back, his brow furrowed as his worried gaze locks onto mine.
I hesitate, my mind scrambling for options. Play it off? Wave it away? Anything to avoid this conversation. But even as the thought crosses my mind, I know I can’t. Not with Callan leaving today.
“It’s…” My voice falters, my heart screaming at me to rip the bandage off already. “It’s Dillon,” I say, wincing as I meet his eyes.
His shoulders go rigid, the easy posture he wore just moments ago vanishing in an instant. The crease between his brows deepens, and there’s a sharp edge to his voice when he finally speaks, low and controlled, but crackling with restrained fury.
“What does he want?”
I swallow hard and glance down at the screen. “He’s asking if we can talk.”
His gaze snaps to mine so fast it roots me to the spot. “And do you want to?”
My fingers fidget along the edge of my phone, searching for something solid in a moment that feels anything but. “I don’t know,” I admit, my voice small. It’s a confession, one that lands gently but echoes between us like a crack of thunder.
His grip on my hand tightens. “You don’t owe him anything,” he says. “Not after everything he did.”
“Maybe not,” I reply softly. “I do think I owe it to myself to hear him out, though.”
The air between us is fragile, stretched thin by words we haven’t said.
His eyes flicker with something raw, a battle waging just beneath the surface.
Between his instinct to protect me and the trust he’s trying to give.
He exhales slowly, his shoulders loosening by a fraction, but the tension in his jaw remains, a telltale sign of the fight he’s not really winning.
“If that’s what you want,” he says quieter, but no less firm. His gaze holds mine, unshakable. “But you’re not doing it alone.”
A bittersweet smile tugs at my lips. I love him for saying it, but I know I can’t let him follow through.
I love the way he just steps in with no hesitation, like shielding me from the world is second nature to him.
It’s in the solid focus of his eyes, how they stay fixed on me as if to memorize every shift in my expression, and in the way his hand remains firmly around mine, like holding on tightly enough could block out everything else.
And yet, this isn’t a battle he can fight for me.
“I know you’re worried,” I say, my voice firm. “But I don’t think this is something you should be there for. I’ll make sure I meet him somewhere public, like for coffee or something.”
His lips part like he wants to argue, but he catches himself, the words dying before they make it out. Instead, he leans back slightly, his thumb still brushing gently over my knuckles. “I don’t like it,” he admits. “But I’ll respect it.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ll be okay. I don’t want to spend our last day thinking about…him.”
His gaze softens, the sharp edges of his worry easing enough to let a breath of warmth slip through. He exhales slowly, nodding. “Aye. Last day, no distractions.” He tries for a smile, but it’s tinged with that sadness we’ve been dancing around all morning.
Determined to shift the mood, I flash him a teasing grin. “You know, I’ve been thinking that maybe I should start a list of all the things I need to do before you leave. Top of the list? Learn how to survive without your amazing cooking.”
His brow arches. “You’ll manage,” he quips. “Though you’ll miss me before you miss the cooking.”
I scoff, giving him an exaggerated once-over. “Debatable.”
That smile of his spreads across his face, the kind that starts in his eyes and takes its time reaching his lips. He’s looking at me like I’ve just said something profound instead of making a bad joke about his cooking.
“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“You know,” he says, his voice dropping to that intimate register that makes my spine tingle, “I can’t wait for you to visit again. Having you wake up in my bed. The way the light hits the hills at dawn—it’ll be the first thing you see every morning.”
“And at night,” he continues, “you’ll fall asleep to the sound of the wind through the trees, wrapped up in my arms, knowing you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”
Is he trying to make me cry? Because mission accomplished. Here I was, trying to make a joke about food, but now I’m blinking furiously, trying to keep my emotions from spilling all over the place. I can’t even be mad about it. I know goodbye is lurking just around the corner.
I sniff, tilting my head back. No tears. No crying over his disgustingly sweet, perfect, life-ruining words.
Then he squeezes my hand, and damn it, a tear escapes.
I groan. “You’re making it real hard to argue with you, you know that?”
“Good,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “Because I don’t plan on giving you a single reason to change your mind.”
I’m so over airports. They’re soulless with nothing but bright lights and endless rows of uncomfortable chairs that are designed to drain the life out of you.
Normally, it’s the sadness that gets me.
Goodbyes in general are never easy. I’m not the one leaving.
I’m the one being left behind. I didn’t realize how much harder that would be.
Every step Callan takes toward those automatic doors feels like someone wringing the air out of my lungs. I thought I’d be okay. I told myself I could handle this, but just imagining the moment he disappears has me crumbling.
We kept the goodbye short. It’s not forever after all. It’s not really goodbye. I’ll be with him before I know it… I just don’t know when that will be. I told myself I wouldn’t cry, that I’d hold it together so he wouldn’t see me falling apart.
When he steps through the doors, my composure falls apart. The tears spill over before I can stop them, my lip trembling as I bite down hard, blinking furiously in a useless attempt to keep it together. My hands swipe at my cheeks, but it’s a losing battle. Let those bitches fall.
He turns back, his eyes catching mine through the glass, and he notices. Before I can process it, he’s striding back. By the time he reaches me, I’m a full-on mess. The sight of him rushing to me makes the tears flow even harder.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his hands gently cradling my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears as if they can fix the heartbreak. “None of this. You know I can’t leave unless I know you’re okay.”
And then, just like that, his teasing grin breaks through, the one that always makes my heart trip over itself. “And also, I owe you an ‘I told you so.’ I knew you’d miss me bad.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, shaky and choked with tears, but it’s there. I swat at his arm, shaking my head. “You’re insufferable, truly.”
He chuckles, leaning closer so his forehead rests lightly against mine. “Aye, but you like me anyway. Besides, you’ll be on your way to me soon. You’ll get sick of me again in no time.”
I laugh. “Oh, I doubt that. You’re too good at being an annoying, lovable pain in my ass.”
His arms come around me fast, tight and fierce. “I’ll make sure to send you the world’s most obnoxious selfies every day,” he promises. “Just so you don’t forget how lucky you are.”
As we pull apart, I try to steady myself, plastering on a smile even though it wobbles at the edges. “I’ll be counting down the days.”
He winks at me with that signature mix of mischief and charm that should honestly come with a hazard warning.
The warmth in my chest spreads like wildfire.
How is this man simultaneously sweet and hot as hell?
He looks at me like that, and suddenly my heart’s doing the Macarena, my brain drifting to thoughts like I could leave tomorrow…
Then, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, he leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. It’s the kind of kiss that says everything he hasn’t. I miss you already. You’re mine.
“All right, Sunshine,” he murmurs, pulling back to meet my eyes. “Here’s the deal. You get in that car and drive off. I’m not stepping foot inside until you’re out of sight.”
He knows how much this goodbye is shredding me, yet somehow, here he is, making me feel like the center of his universe.
“Okay.” I finally nod.
His eyes sparkle, that familiar glint of wickedness lighting them up. “Go before I start thinking about how much I’m going to miss you and ruin my manly reputation.”
I can’t help but laugh. His ridiculousness is the only thing that keeps me from completely losing it. “You’re impossible,” I say, backing away slowly and trying to keep it together, even though my feet seem to get heavier with every step.
He responds with a lazy salute, the corners of his mouth curling into that smile that always gets to me. As I climb into the car, he doesn’t move. He just watches me.
I shift into gear and pull away from the curb, but I can’t stop myself from glancing in the rearview mirror one last time.
There he is. Standing still. Watching me go. His smile is there, but it’s laced with the same weight I’m carrying. That sadness, that ache, that longing to not be apart, to not say goodbye.
I push it down, telling myself it’s just for a little while. Eventually, everything will fall into place. Even if the space beside me is too quiet and empty now.
I blink rapidly, but the tears are already back, welling up and blurring my vision. I’m supposed to be strong, supposed to drive away with my heart intact, but it’s impossible. He’s still standing there.
I take a breath, shaky and uneven. Then another. As I press my foot to the gas, every part of me is screaming to turn around.