Chapter 39
Bastiaan
The cabin feels smaller now. Not because anything’s changed in the walls or the floor, but because there’s this tight, lingering pressure in the air from earlier. That knock of adrenaline hasn’t gone anywhere—it’s just settled into my bones, leaving my muscles stiff and my chest heavy.
Amber’s curled up in the armchair by the fire, a blanket pulled tight around her shoulders.
She’s looking at the flames, but I can tell she’s not seeing them.
I’m the same—staring at things without really looking, because all I can hear in my head is the sound of boots crunching in the snow and door handles being tested.
We haven’t talked much since it happened. I think we’re both still listening, half expecting to hear it again.
I should say something. I should walk over, crouch down in front of her, take her hands and tell her it’s okay. But the words don’t come.
Because I’m not sure it is okay.
I’m not built for this. I’m not the man who can stand at a window with a gun and keep danger out.
I’m not trained; I’m not prepared for this kind of shit.
And tonight made that clearer than ever.
I can’t pretend I’m some kind of shield when the truth is, if they’d wanted in badly enough, they’d be in.
Yes, I’d jump in front of a bullet for her, but that’s about all I could do.
That thought opens a door in my head I don’t want to go through, but it’s already swinging wide. Back to another night, another moment when I thought everything would be fine until it wasn’t.
The hospital had that smell—disinfectant and something sharper underneath.
I never got to say goodbye.
And now here I am, looking at Amber across the room and knowing I’m on the edge of another split.
She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve to sit in a cabin waiting for boots in the snow to come back. She doesn’t deserve the constant risk of loving someone who’s already lost this much—because I know, deep down, if I lose her too, I’ll break in a way I can’t be put back together.
I stand up because sitting still makes my chest feel tighter. I pace the small space between the fire and the table, trying to burn off the restless energy. My hands keep flexing, like they’re looking for something to hold on to.
If I keep her close, I keep her in this circle of grief with me. If I let her go… at least she’s clear of it.
The thought feels like a knife in my ribs, but it’s solid. Unavoidable.
I drop onto the couch and stare at the fire. The warmth hits my skin, but it doesn’t touch the cold sitting deep in me.
Later, when the flames have burned down and the shadows in the room have stretched longer, Amber leaves the chair and sits beside me. The edge of her blanket brushes against my leg, and I can feel her warmth even through the fabric.
“You’re quiet,” she says softly.
“I’m thinking,” I tell her. My voice sounds strange to my own ears.
She tilts her head, eyes searching mine. “About earlier?”
“About… everything.” I hesitate, then add, “About us.”
Her brows pull together, and she leans in, resting her hand against my cheek. “Talk to me, Bas.”
I close my eyes for a moment, letting her touch sink in. Then I pull back, because if I stay there too long, I’ll lose the nerve to say what I have to.
“Amber… I care about you. More than I thought I’d be able to care about anyone again.”
Her lips part, but I keep going before she can speak.
“But tonight… it showed me something I’ve been trying not to admit. How close you are to being taken from me. How easy it could be. And I—” My throat closes for a second. “I can’t go through that again.”
She blinks at me. “This isn’t the same as—”
“I know it’s not,” I say quickly. “But it feels the same in here.” I press my hand flat over my chest. “That feeling that the moment you love someone, the clock starts ticking. I’ve lived it once, and it was enough.”
Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Bas, you can’t live your life like that. You can’t keep everyone at arm’s length just because something might happen.”
I shake my head. “It’s not about arm’s length. It’s about knowing myself. I haven’t moved on from Marieke—not completely. And maybe I never will. It’s better a broken heart now, early on… than for you to be destroyed later, when you’ve given me everything and I still can’t give you all of me back.”
Her eyes widen, hurt flashing sharply. “So… what? Everything we’ve done means nothing to you? The time we’ve spent together… all of it? Does that not matter?”
“Of course it matters,” I say quickly, my chest tightening. “Every second of it matters. More than I can explain. But that’s the problem, Amber. You matter too much. And if I can’t love you the way you deserve, the way you need, then keeping you close isn’t fair to either of us.”
Her voice cracks. “You think walking away is fair?”
“No,” I say. “It’s just the only way I know to stop myself from hurting you worse later.”
Her eyes glisten. “You’re deciding for both of us.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “But if the end result is you standing there one day, realising I could never truly leave the past behind… I’d rather you hate me for walking away now than have to live through that.”
She squeezes my hand. “You’re the strongest man I know.”
“Strong doesn’t mean I can keep you safe,” I tell her. “And you deserve safe.”
Her lips press together, like she’s trying to hold something in.
“I’m sorry, Amber. But this is me protecting you, the only way I know how.”
Her hand falls from my cheek, and the cold rushes in fast.
“Bas—”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, my voice breaking. “I have to do this.”
The silence after is heavy enough to feel. I stare into the fire until it’s just embers, knowing that even though she’s still sitting beside me, the distance between us has already started growing.