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I gaped at him, eyes rounding with shock.
Whitney. Knows.
“What?” I swallowed. “How?”
“Because she’s observant. Because we haven’t been as careful as you think. Because she knows me better than anyone and has had a front-row seat to our relationship for the past two years.” Reed squeezed the back of his neck, staring down at the floor. “Pick one.”
Ice filtered through my veins, freezing my hostility. Fear leaked through—fear that my love for one man had ultimately derailed the only other love in my life. “Oh, God…I-I didn’t know.”
“Now you do. That’s why I’m leaving. Tara is going to find out, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t do that to her.” He inhaled a cracked breath and shook his head with defeat. “I can’t do that to you.”
His words slowly trickled through me.
A clearer picture formed.
With it came a new image of Reed—not as a villain or a coward—but as the man he promised me he’d be. The fighter. The warrior.
“You deserve to have someone in your corner, fighting like hell for you. For your honor, your worth. I want to be that person. I’ll be that guy…even if that’s all I’ll ever be.”
This was his way.
This was the only way.
While pieces fell into place, other pieces broke into tiny fragments. All of my stupid hopes and daydreams shattered at my feet.
Reed was a realist. He knew there was only one way out of this, and that was him putting true distance between us. Miles of it. States, borders, highways, and mountains.
We weren’t done. Our story wasn’t over, and yet “The End” was stamped in black ink across the pages. I knew it was for the best, but the best didn’t always feel better.
We would forever be a half-written song.
Finally, ruefully, I nodded my surrender. If he was going to be strong, then I’d be strong, too. I would prove my father wrong and do this really hard thing with my back against the wall, my knees shaking and buckling, and my heart in splintered tatters.
I can do this.
“Okay,” I told him in two broken-down syllables. “You’re right.”
He smiled the saddest smile. “I don’t want to be right.”
“I don’t want us to be wrong.”
When he reached for me again, I let him. I let him cup my damp cheeks between his palms and press his lips to mine, our kiss infused with salt and pain. Our foreheads touched, our noses grazed, and I said softly, “Are you here to save me?”
Another kiss landed on my hairline, and he lingered there, squeezing me tighter, exhaling ragged breaths against my skin. “You never needed saving, Halley. You were never lost.”
“I was,” I cried. “I was lost when you found me, and I’ll be lost when you leave me.”
“No.” He kissed my forehead, my tear-tipped lashes, my quivering upper lip. “You were searching for something you already had.”
As his hand splayed across my chest—my heart—I collapsed into a heap of devastation against him, burying my face into the crook of his neck and wishing I would never have to leave the solace of his arms.
It was fascinating the way human beings tended to living things; how we could nurture something so fiercely, all while knowing it was going to die. Just a little more water, we’d say. Better sunlight. A silent wish for a few more good days. But it didn’t matter. Every hearty, thriving thing carried with it the certainty of an expiration date.
Nothing lived forever.
Even love.
And still, we allowed it to bloom. We breathed life into it, while simultaneously whispering our last goodbye.