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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

SUTTON

I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall for the hundredth time, the hands reading 12:22 mocking me.

At least it was in good company, along with my phone, which had remained silent despite the texts and calls I’d sent to Atlas after his dismissive bullshit earlier tonight.

It sounds like a great opportunity for you.

I bet Laurel will love the bigger city.

And don’t worry about the lease.

His immediate dismissal of me and what I’d thought we had was like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind straight out of me.

It was proof in black-and-white that these past several weeks clearly hadn’t meant to him what they’d meant to me.

Meanwhile, I’d been talking to Quinn about the possibility of making my position permanent.

When Laurel and I had first moved here, I hadn’t been sure Starlight Cove would be the right fit for us.

But now, after building a life here—one that felt fulfilling in a way it never had before, for not just me, but her too—it was hard to imagine us anywhere else.

Taking a permanent position would be a huge leap for me.

Laurel and I had traveled my entire career, and I thought it was something I’d always do.

Would always want to do.

But things changed along the way.

Of course, I never could’ve guessed what I actually wanted was a former pro football player who was built like a bear and just as protective as one.

I also never could’ve guessed that same man would throw me away with seemingly little thought.

I’d spent all night flipping between hurt and anger, the bubbles of nervousness and excitement I’d felt earlier after talking with Quinn long gone.

Turned out I didn’t need to try to figure out how to ask Atlas if he wanted the same thing as I did—namely, permanence and not a fake relationship crafted only as a means to an end.

He’d already decided what we had was over.

The back door lock disengaged, and I snapped my head up at the sound, steeling myself for what was coming.

I heard a car drive away—probably one of Atlas’s brothers—as Atlas strode in, head down and footsteps heavy, stopping suddenly when he spotted me on the couch.

He looked like hell, with rumpled clothes and disheveled hair.

Nothing like the stoic statue of a man he was known for being around town.

“You’re still up,” he said, his voice rough.

I huffed out a humorous laugh and threw off the blanket, careful to avoid Pandora, who was curled up on the couch.

Standing, I crossed my arms over my chest and met his stare.

“It’s a little hard to sleep when the guy you’re supposedly with ends the relationship in a text without bothering to have a conversation.”

“Why do we need a conversation?” He scrubbed a hand over his face and heaved a sigh.

“I already told you I saw the email.”

“Yeah, and you also told me it’s a great opportunity and that I shouldn’t worry about the lease.” The anger that had been simmering all night flared bright.

“You decided what I was doing without my even saying a word.”

His mouth tightened, his shoulders as tense as ever, but that was the only outward sign of emotion he showed.

Just as still and immovable as ever.

I shook my head, a bone-deep exhaustion washing over the anger that had sparked inside me.

I’d thought Atlas was different.

Thought this relationship was different.

But he was only more of the same.

“I thought getting involved with someone eight years older than me meant I might be getting some maturity instead of the bullshit I’m used to. Thought you might actually have a conversation like a grown-ass adult.”

“What’s there to talk about? You got a job offer in Boston.”

“And you assumed I was taking it without even discussing it with you!”

“Why would you? That’s what people do in real relationships. And you and I both know what we had was fake.”

Getting stabbed repeatedly in the heart would’ve hurt less than those words coming from his mouth.

As desperately as I tried to keep my emotions at bay, I couldn’t stop the tears from welling.

My eyes stung as Atlas blurred in front of me, and he made a gruff noise, a tiny crack in his facade.

He took a step toward me, but I held up a hand to stop him, desperate to maintain whatever distance between us I could.

“Fake,” I said. “Right. I’m glad we cleared that up. Otherwise, I would’ve made a fool of myself if I’d told you I went to see Quinn today to talk about a permanent position at the clinic because I was considering staying.”

Surprise followed quickly by hope flickered in his eyes, but it was too little, too late.

“Sutton?—”

“No. You don’t get to talk right now. You had your chance earlier when I asked you to have a conversation. You had your chance when I called and texted you half a dozen times, trying to figure out where you were and what the hell was going on. Instead, you disappeared for hours, all because you convinced yourself I was going to leave.”

He opened his mouth to speak before snapping it shut, his jaw clenching tightly to keep in whatever he refused to say.

His silence was deafening as the scent of bourbon hung in the air between us.

It only served as a reminder of what he’d chosen to do instead of talking with me.

This man who’d always been a mountain for everyone else couldn’t—or just plain didn’t want to—weather a tiny storm with me.

“You’ve been waiting for me to leave since day one, haven’t you? That must be why this is so easy for you to throw away—you never believed it was real in the first place.”

“It was never supposed to be.” His voice was hard, like if he spoke with enough conviction, what he said would be true.

His words and the resignation in his tone only sparked my anger that had receded, stoked my pain because he hadn’t even given us a chance.

He’d given up without a fight.

And I deserved someone who would fight for me.

“Maybe not at first. But I thought, somewhere along the way, we’d moved past that. That what we had actually meant something. That I meant something,” I said, hating how my voice broke.

“I was clearly wrong.”

Unable to spend another second in his presence, I strode toward the stairs.

Tears had pooled in my eyes, but I wasn’t going to allow him to see them fall.

“Where are you going?” he asked, as if he had a right to know.

“To pack a bag. I’ll stay in the cottage.”

“But it’s not done?—”

“It has four walls and a roof. It’ll do.”

“You don’t have to go back there. You can stay?—”

I turned to face him from halfway up the stairs, running my eyes over the man I’d come to care so much about, despite my best efforts otherwise.

The man I’d come to love.

“No, I can’t. Because every time I look at you, I’m going to remember this feeling in my gut. And it’ll just remind me that the one time—the one time—I found somewhere I wanted to stay and someone I wanted to stay with, he was holding the door open for me to leave all along.”