Page 18

Tessa

The door clicks shut behind me, and I barely make it three steps into the house before the tears start.

They hit like a storm, silent at first, then violent.

I lean against the wall, pressing my palms flat to it like it might hold me up, like maybe I’ll stop crumbling if I just stay still.

But I’m already breaking.

Working today after last night, after leaving my heart with Torrent, was impossible.

I slide down until I’m sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, tears soaking into my sweater. My heart doesn’t know what the hell to do with itself. It’s fighting me, screaming that this is wrong, that I don’t belong anywhere but with him.

But I know what I have to do.

I have to walk away.

Because I love him. Because he deserves better than what I’ve become.

Last night was my gift to him. One more night of us. Of what we used to be. I wanted him to feel that girl again, the one he fell in love with. I wanted to look into his eyes and give him peace. Give him me, without the heaviness. Just love. Laughter. Touch. Everything I had left.

But I didn’t expect it to feel so good.

So real.

And that’s what’s breaking me now.

Because if it was real for me, it had to be real for him too. And that means I’m about to rip both our hearts out.

My phone buzzes on the table across the room. I don’t have to look to know it’s Emerson.

She’s probably worried. She probably saw through the smile I forced this morning.

Emerson always sees too much. And God, I want to answer.

I want to hear her voice and fall apart for real.

I want someone to tell me that I’m not a coward for doing this.

That I’m strong. That this is what love looks like sometimes.

But if I talk to her, if I say it out loud, I’ll never stop crying.

So, I let it ring.

And then ring again.

And again.

Eventually, it stops.

And I’m alone with the silence.

I wipe my face with my sleeve and force myself to breathe through the ache. It’s deep. Deep like, something is dying inside me. But I know that if I stay, I’ll keep pulling Torrent down with me.

He needs to be sharp. Focused. Cold when it calls for it, but warm when it matters. He can’t carry the weight of a broken ol’ lady while trying to lead a club of soldiers through a battlefield.

They need their President.

He needs to be their President.

And if being with me puts even the slightest crack in his armor, I need to fix it. I won’t be the reason he falls.

I love him too much for that.

I drag myself to the bedroom, grabbing a small bag and staring at it like it’s a grenade.

Because once I pack it, once I leave, I can’t take it back.

And I don’t know who I’ll be on the other side of that choice.

My throat tightens and the tears come again, hot and endless.

“I love you,” I whisper into the empty room. “I love you so fucking much.”

I wish he could hear me.

But maybe it’s better that he doesn’t.

Because if he came for me right now, if he told me to stay, I’d do it.

And that would destroy us both.

I pack only necessities, fighting tears the entire time.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I wasn’t supposed to need to run again.

Not after all this time.

But it’s happening.

There’s only one thing left I need to do.

I sit at the kitchen counter, a pen trembling in my hand, paper blurry beneath tear-filled eyes.

Torrent,

I don’t even know how to start this.

There are a thousand things I want to say, and none of them feel big enough for what you mean to me.

I love you.

I don’t say it enough. I should’ve screamed it from every rooftop. I should’ve carved it into every moment we shared. Every laugh, every kiss, every mile on your bike with my arms wrapped around you and the wind in my hair. I should’ve said it every damn time.

I remember all the nights we made dinner together, how that one time you acted like my chopped onions were trash but still ate the whole plate with that smug smile.

Or when you taught me how to shoot and I almost took out a tire in the parking lot, and you just laughed and wrapped your arms around me, fixing my stance, your hands steadying me, grounding me.

And those nights at Savage Steel. The music too loud, the whiskey too strong, you by my side with that possessive grip on my waist like you were telling the whole world, “She’s mine.”

God, I am yours.

I’ve always been yours.

Even when I was scared. Even when I pulled away. My heart? It never left you.

Not once.

I remember the way your hand felt in mine, how safe I felt, how your eyes softened when you looked at me like I was everything right in a world gone wrong.

I remember the way you kissed me like it was a promise.

And the way you held me after we made love, like you never wanted to let go.

Tears drip onto the paper, smearing the ink. I press my fist to my mouth and close my eyes.

I’m doing this for you. I’m doing this because I love you.

I set the pen down and draw in a shaking breath, wiping my face with the sleeve of the hoodie I stole from him. One that still smells like his cologne, gun oil, and home.

The knock on the door startles me. It’s too sharp. Too sudden. Not like Emerson. Not like someone who loves me.

My stomach drops.

Slowly, I rise to my feet, glancing at the half-written letter, the bag at the door, the phone I haven’t touched in hours.

When I open the door, it’s like all the air leaves the room.

“Tessa.”

My heart stops.

Every drop of blood drains from my face, my fingers curling around the edge of the door.

He’s older. Leaner. Colder.

But I know that voice.

I know those eyes.

Terror roots me to the floor.

I try to slam the door shut, but his boot kicks out, jamming it open with a sickening crack.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“NO!” I scream, scrambling backward, but he’s already inside.

His hand clamps down on my arm like a steel vice, and I thrash, claw, kick. “Let go of me! Get off!”

“You ran away from your family and thought you could hide with the President of the Royal Bastards?” His voice is full of venom, but calm in that horrifying way. “You used to be smart, darling.”

Another man steps through the doorway.

Then another.

It’s too fast.

It’s over.

“It’s time to pay for your mistakes.”

I scream louder, desperate, pleading for someone, anyone, to hear me.

But no one comes.

My back slams against the wall, then I’m being dragged out, my feet fighting for purchase, nails scratching wood.

Torrent.

His name is a prayer in my head.

The last thing I see is my letter on the counter and the pen still uncapped beside it.

The bag sitting there, waiting to go.

And then I’m thrown into the back of a van, hands bound, knees buckling as the door slams shut and locks me in.

My head spins, heart pounding so hard I think it might explode.

This is how it ends.

Not with goodbye.

Not with peace.

But with fear.

And the memory of the man I love echoes in my chest like a ghost I’ll never get to hold again.