Her answer was immediate. “No.”

He wasn’t surprised. He remembered, vividly, what she’d said to him, muffled beneath the ringing in his ears. If you can leave this easily, don’t fucking come back. He could tell her the truth—that it hadn’t been easy at all, that it had been his only option, that he’d wanted to turn around and touch her but he’d been so fucking afraid—only he didn’t think that would fix things. Because as far as Chloe was concerned, he’d just left.

The full impact of that fact hit him hard enough to rattle his teeth. He’d left.

“Chloe,” he said, the word shaking with all his desperation, all his regret. He closed his eyes and threaded his hands through his hair. “I don’t know what happened. No, I do. I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I panicked and I couldn’t think but—”

“I know,” she said, interrupting him. For a second, his heart gave a tentative little hop. But then she continued. “I know, Red. I understand. I really do. But … but I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Just like that, he truly understood the word devastation. He was the earth after a monumental asteroid, knocked off his axis, burned and choked and twisted into a wasteland. “Chloe, no. Please. I’m trying—”

“It’s not because of you,” she said firmly. Which couldn’t possibly be right, only … only, she sounded so sure. So calm. So in control, as if the tears he’d heard a moment ago had been imaginary. “It’s me,” she said. “I can’t do this. Because we’re only human, and I’ll stumble, or you will, and it’ll hurt just like this, and I can’t. I can’t. I should’ve known I wasn’t ready for this. When you walked out …” She sucked in a breath so hard, he actually heard it. That breath painted a picture for him: Chloe, her lovely face streaked with tears he’d caused, her soft mouth rolled into a hard line to stop herself from sobbing. The thought caused him actual, physical pain. His hands ached, not because of his scar but because they needed to touch her.

But she didn’t want his touch anymore.

“When you walked out,” she said, composed now, “it felt like I was breaking.”

Red officially knew the feeling. “Baby.”

She kept going, the words marching out like well-trained soldiers. “No one should be able to make me feel like that. No one should have that power. It’s not … safe.”

A cold hand cradled the back of his skull, long, icy fingers flooding his nervous system until his whole body felt numb. She was shutting down again, because of him. He couldn’t bear it. He refused to be the reason someone so brave went back into hibernation. “Chloe, listen to me. I’ve got issues coming out my arsehole but that has nothing to do with you. You did nothing wrong. Even if you don’t—if you don’t want me anymore, that doesn’t mean you should give up on everyone. On feeling things for people. On risks.”

Silence.

“Chloe, are you there?”

Nothing. Panic filled him like flames devouring a forest, an unstoppable destruction.

“Chloe, please. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You can trust me. You can trust yourself. If you just give me time—I’m working on this. I can be better.”

That, finally, garnered a response. Her voice was so gentle, but every word cut him deep. “You don’t need to be better, Red, not for me. Never. I should be better for you. For this. It’s been … perfect,” she said, so softly he almost missed the word. “But now it’s over. All right?”

For the first time, he turned around, abandoning the scuff mark that had anchored him. He faced the door he’d been leaning on, the door that hid Chloe, and said, “No.” Because it wasn’t all right at all.

“I’m going, all right?”

“No.” And then, finally, his desperate mind settled on a solution. A possibility. A hope. “I can show you,” he said. “I can show you that this is worth it. That you don’t need to be afraid because even when I fuck up I’ll make it better.”

“Red—”

“You are perfect for me, Chloe,” he said, determination stiffening his spine, strengthening his voice. Finally, his real self returned. He stepped into his confidence like a well-worn leather jacket. “I know you and I want you and I need you. We can do this. I’ll prove it to you.”

“You can’t, Red.” Her voice shook on his name. “This isn’t … Relationships aren’t supposed to hurt.”

“Life hurts,” he said fiercely. “It’s unavoidable. But I know the difference between torture and growing pains.”

She didn’t reply. She’d probably walked away, fed up with him rambling like a fanatic, but that was okay. He was okay. He’d made his decision and he’d stick by it: she meant too much for him to let things end like this. Maybe they’d end anyway, no matter what he did, and he’d have to come to terms with that—but not before he’d tried to fix things. Not before he’d done everything he could to earn her trust. To prove that he was there to stay, to show her he was working on himself. For her. Whatever it took.

He stared at her door for a moment longer, pretending she was still on the other side. He told her absence a secret: “I love you.”

Then he left. It was time to prove it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Chloe wanted to believe that Red’s whispered I love you had been simple desperation—another last-ditch attempt to change her mind, to fix everything that had just shattered between them. But the thing was, if she hadn’t been pressed against the door, listening to him as her stung heart held her back, she wouldn’t have heard it at all.

Had he meant it? Was it real? Maybe it didn’t matter either way. Because no matter what he felt, no matter what she felt, he’d still ripped her open and shattered her insides just by walking out the door.

No one should be able to do that to her. Not like that. Not anymore.

So Chloe didn’t allow herself to cry when he was gone. Instead, she got to work.

Her body stiff and robotic, her physical pain at the very back of her mind, she sat down at her desktop computer, grim-faced, to finish his website. She would tie up every loose end there was between them, and then … then, she would wait until the end of her lease and move out. She’d be the one to disappear on him. For the first time, she’d be Chloe Badass Brown who walked away from all the dangerous emotional tangles that threatened her.

The thought brought a vicious smile to her face, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that made things better. If anything, it made her feel worse.

It took hours to finish the site. By the time she was done, her stomach cramped violently with hunger, her knuckles screamed with the agony of overuse, and her rigid, aching back brought tears to her eyes. She was hurting herself and she knew it, but she didn’t have room to regret it. As she fired off her last email to Red, the only thing she could feel was relief.

She’d be so much better after this was done. After she brought all these messy feelings, this imperfect, uncontrollable connection, to an end.

She kept the email short.