Page 9

WES

September—Seventeen Days Prior

“ I can’t marry you.” The words tumbled out of her in a rush, and I felt everything within me freeze.

Ice.

Sub-zero.

Chilled to the fucking core.

“What?”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I just didn’t know how. But…I can’t marry you.”

I didn’t understand. What was happening? I looked into her eyes—those eyes that always told me every secret, every pain she carried deep inside—and they told me nothing. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

She backed away. Put distance between us. “I can’t marry you, Wes. I-I’m in love with Matias.” She looked away.

Silence .

This couldn’t be happening. How could I read so much in her eyes and now see nothing at all? This couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream. An illusion. A nightmare .

I grabbed her arm. Forced her to face me. I needed to see her eyes. I needed to hear the truth in her eyes because this had to be wrong. “I don’t believe you. Why are you doing this? What aren’t you telling me?”

She tried pulling away from me, but I only gripped her tighter. “I am telling you, but you’re just refusing to listen. I don’t love you, Wes. I’ve never loved you.”

Cracking.

Splintering.

Breaking.

Her words were like a sledgehammer to my fragile heart.

“I don’t believe you,” I said. Hell, I didn’t want to believe her.

“Matias!” she called.

Adrenaline pumped through me. Acid melted my veins. Because hearing her call for someone else was like embers in my eyes.

“Don’t call for him!” I spat out, stepping towards her, yanking her closer to me. She stumbled, and I was instantly filled with regret, but the painful rage was consuming me whole.

Matias forced himself between us. Shoved me back hard, like I was some sort of crazed animal. My anger was unleashed, fueled by hate and hurt and grief and sorrow and frustration and everything else that made me a tornado of emotions.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” I growled at him.

But Matias was an idiot and couldn’t take a hint. He came at me, posturing, face twisted in a scowl. “Can’t you fucking hear her, bro? She’s done with you. Touch her again, and it’ll be you and me, Wes. You and me.”

My hand curled into a fist as I resisted the urge to punch him. But he stepped backwards and then it was her again. Her brown hair falling about her face, tantalizing lips puckered in a frown, and those gut-wrenching eyes…

Her eyes screamed she was sorry. They yelled pain and despair and regret and—oh my fucking god—they said that this was real .

“Mara…please.” I was begging. Like a fucking dog, I was begging. “Don’t do this to me.”

“I-I wanted to love you. I prayed to the universe to help me feel something—anything—for you. But I…I don’t.”

I squeezed my eyes. Shook my head. My mind raced to find anything to convince her to stop. “The gala…after the gala—”

“Tell him what you saw that night,” she all but screamed at Calista. “Tell him!”

Cassie, my ex-girlfriend of all people, looked at me. “I saw them kissing on the balcony…right before you asked her to marry you.”

I was cold. I was so cold. “But after…” After she said yes . She accepted me. She kissed me. She chose me .

“I know how it all felt. But whenever I look at you, I only see Chase.”

My heart stopped beating.

Everything inside me stilled.

Nothing lived.

“I only see him , Wes. I only feel him when you touch me. And I—I imagine him when you kiss me. I don’t see you. And that’s not fair to you.”

No breath.

No heartbeat.

No blood in my veins.

No warmth.

No thoughts.

No emotion whatsoever.

I shattered.

Because how could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so blind? To think that Mara de la Puente would actually choose me in the end? To believe that her kisses were real and that the love in her eyes was because she saw me and not him ?

Because I was nothing more than a cheap, crude replica of a better man.

Because I was too rough, too crass, too brass, too bold, and everything about me meant nothing to her because I was just a worthless imitation in the end.

Because that was the reality, wasn’t it? Love really was a tragedy. Because Romeo died and Juliet killed herself all because of stupid, fucking love. All because of stupid petals on fucking white roses that needed to be destroyed before they drew blood like the fucking assholes that they were.

Because fuck roses and dewdrops. Fuck the sun and the stars. Fuck the galaxies and forests and wolves that called to the moon. Fuck the world because it could all go to hell !

I closed my eyes. Felt as the rage and the anguish bubbled and boiled within me.

But I refused to crumble here in front of them.

I had made a fool of myself. So stupid and blind.

And I was powerless against it. Powerless against the ache and the pain and the desire to carve out my own heart and crush it in my own hands because somehow that would be better than this .

But I breathed.

I shuddered.

And I did the only thing I knew how to do—I hardened.

Because it was the only way I knew how to survive.

I grew rigid.

I grew heavy.

I grew firm.

I became stone.

And I refused to crumble anymore.

** *

September—Sixteen Days Prior

I stepped out of the briefing. After returning from the tower, seeing her drown and then fight for her life in a hospital, I was emotionally raw. No matter how much her confession of never loving me hurt, I still cared for her with all my heart.

And now, after seeing her standing at the front of the room next to her brother, commanding the space like she owned it…

I had never been prouder of her.

Her eyes burned like fire. Thundered like lightning. Crashed down like a tidal wave. She told a room of people several decades her senior what they were going to do and how they were going to do it.

She was confident—a quality she possessed very little of before. But months of military training had brushed away the sand and dust that hid this part of her from the world. But she still doubted herself. Still believed the lies told to her for the past eighteen years of her life.

From time to time, I’d see it. See her spark. See the wick finally catch flame. But life wanted to keep her down. Wanted to smother her out. And the doubt would creep back in.

I wished I could let her see herself through my eyes.

I wished I could sacrifice my vision, never see the world again, if it meant that she could finally see herself the way I saw her.

Because Mara was strong. And somewhere buried deep inside her was a force to be reckoned with, a leader desperate to rise.

But she was still afraid of her own voice.

Still believed she was inconsequential.

That she was worthless, and a disgrace, and nothing but shards of broken glass discarded by the sea.

But sea glass was beautiful—a treasure found on the sands of a beach.

And that was exactly the issue. Because Mara believed she was nothing more than trash, and in doing so, she failed to see she was treasure .

But watching her next to her brother, commanding the room, I thought I understood why Jacob de la Puente was a life worth saving.

Because Jacob de la Puente gave Mara wings.

He lent her his strength. Offered her his courage.

Helped her step into her shoes of leadership.

He gave her what she needed so she could fly.

So she could rise into the sky and command the world from the heavens.

But they were borrowed wings.

They didn’t belong to her.

And what she didn’t realize was that she had wings of her own. But they had been bound. A net cast over them, cords wrapped around them, bent and contorted into submission. Hidden from her and the world.

She couldn’t fly with wings she didn’t know she had.

But Jacob gave her wings. Borrowed. But wings nonetheless.

I stood up straighter as Bynes marched Jacob out of the Situation Room, hands in cuffs behind his back.

“Jacob de la Puente,” I said. Bynes stopped him in front of me. “I’m Wes Calvernon, First Son of the North.”

His eyes flickered with recognition of my title, recognition of me. An understanding that he and I were the same in our duties and responsibilities. He nodded. “Mr. Calvernon, what can I do for you?”

My gaze shifted to General Bynes. She looked bored and impatient. She could wait. I looked back at Jacob. “You said Chelsea McKenna was implanted with NIT-V1, correct?”

Her name registered. His eyes spoke of regret. “Yes.”

“Ever since she returned from Telvia, she—” I faltered. Only a moment. “She hasn’t been right.”

Pity. His eyes whispered pity. “She’s still alive?”

“I’m not sure you can call what she’s doing as living. Is there anything that can be done to help her?”

He grimaced. His eyes closed for the fraction of a second before a determined look came over him.

“NIT-V1 wasn’t ready when she was modified.

There were things about it that still needed to be improved on.

Certain flaws that left it vulnerable and fallible, aside from mentally destroying its host.” He gave a gentle nod.

“There is something you can do to help her. I’ll tell you everything you need to know. ”

I gave a half-hearted smile as my brows drew forward. “Thank you.”

Jacob gave me one more definitive nod. His eyes said he was grateful. Appreciative that he was being given the opportunity to right a wrong committed by his hands. “Don’t thank me for this. I’m just glad I can help. It’s the least I can do.”

He wasn’t wrong, but I understood his point.

I nodded. Cleared my throat. Shifted my gaze to Cassia. “General Bynes, notify the Sergeant Major that Mr. de la Puente has some helpful information to assist Miss McKenna. I think he’ll be happy to hear the news.”

Cassia’s eyes strained. Told me she wanted to do nothing but put Jacob behind bars. But she wasn’t about to disobey orders. “Yes, sir.”

She tugged on Jacob’s arms, changing directions. But Jacob held firm. Stood still. He was stone. “Mr. Calvernon?”

I met his gaze. Waited.

No humor in his eyes. No smile on his face. Nothing but cool, collected granite. “You’ll be good to her.”

My brows furrowed once more. “Excuse me? ”

“My sister,” he added. “You’ll be good to her.”

My shoulders rolled back, humor tickling a buried part of me. “Are you asking me?”

He smiled. Shook his head. Looked at me. “I don’t ask things, Mr. Calvernon. I give orders.” Then he walked away, catching Bynes by surprise.

I watched. And then I laughed. Because Jacob de la Puente—First Son of Telvia, General of the REG, Mara’s brother—read stories in people’s eyes just like I did. And I could only wonder what story my eyes told him.

Because I had many stories inside me. And all of them ended in heartache and pain.

But the one I just couldn’t seem to deaden was the story of unrequited love.

Because all this time I thought I was Romeo, only to discover I was Paris, the poor fool Juliet never loved. And the idiot ended up alone in the end.

Whatever Jacob thought he knew, he was wrong. I would always be good to her until my very last breath. But Mara didn’t belong to me. She wasn’t mine to love.

Not anymore.