“Is that it?”

“Well, yes.”

“Apology accepted. Goodnight.” I moved for the door and he caught me by the elbow.

“Wait. Please.” He took a breath and closed his eyes for a second. “There’s more.”

I pulled my arm from his grasp and hugged myself. Stood with one foot crossed over the other. “Okay.”

“I don’t think I explained myself very well yesterday. You caught me off guard when you said you might move back, and what you got was a gut reaction.”

“But was it honest?” I asked. “Is that the way you feel?”

“Yes,” he admitted, “but—”

“Then I think you explained yourself just fine, Noah. There’s no confusion.” My eyes filled. “I didn’t want to say goodbye, and you did.”

“But it’s not because I don’t care about you.” His expression was agonized as he took me by the shoulders. “You have to know that. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. No matter where I go or who I’m with or how long we’re apart, I never stop thinking about you. I never stop wanting you. I’ve always loved you.”

“Bullshit,” I said, unable to stop the sobs from escaping. I shook my head. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have taken my heart and crushed the life out of it yesterday. You would have given us a chance.”

He gripped my shoulders harder. “You don’t understand. I can’t be what you want. I can’t give you everything that you deserve. I can’t make you happy.”

“That’s a choice you’re making!” I cried. “It’s not that you can’t, it’s that you won’t.”

“It’s the same either way. And it’s not going to change.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “Please don’t hate me for it.”

“I’ll never hate you,” I wept helplessly, tears streaming down my face. “I love you too much.”

He pulled me into his chest and held me so tight, I could hardly breathe. I clung to him, crying into his shoulder, my tears, lipstick and eye makeup smearing all over his shirt. “I’m sorry,” he kept saying, his voice breaking over the words. “I’m sorry. I wish things were different.”

It only made me cry harder. I forced myself to break away, wrenching myself from his arms. “So do I, Noah. I’d hoped this would be only the beginning for us. But instead, this is goodbye.”

Without giving him a chance to stop me, I turned from him and ran from the room.

Twenty-Seven

Noah

My gut instinct was to chase her, but I shut it down. Like she’d said, this was my choice, and I had to be willing to watch her walk away.

But it felt like knives being thrown into my heart.

She was so damn beautiful. And that dress—oh my God, I’d nearly dropped to my knees at the sight of her in it. She’d said it was long, but she hadn’t mentioned the thigh-high slit in the front. And she’d said it had sleeves, but she’d neglected to tell me the neckline plunged so low. I don’t know how I’d have survived sitting next to her all night without wanting to get my mouth on her bare skin.

She’d worn her hair down, too, in soft golden waves that looked like silk. When I took her in my arms, I’d breathed in the scent of it and wanted to stop time.

I was so fucking angry at myself for hurting her. Had I made things worse by showing up here tonight? I’d only wanted to tell her I was sorry, make sure she knew how I felt. I didn’t want her going back to DC thinking I was a callous asshole that didn’t care. I’d thought that by telling her I loved her, somehow it would absolve me.

But it hadn’t. If anything, I’d only made it harder to let her go.

Fury and self-loathing surged through me. “Fuck this,” I said, storming out of the room. Spying a back exit, I headed for it, glad I wouldn’t have to run into anyone on my way out. Because fuck everyone. Fuck this week, the mistakes I’d made, the friendship I’d ruined, the heart I’d shattered.

Fuck my own heart too.

And fuck love.

Despite the fact that I had to get up for work in about six hours, I drove straight to a dive bar on the outskirts of town, parked myself on a stool, and proceeded to get stinking drunk. I talked to no one, and no one dared talk to me. If I sensed anyone even looking in my direction, I gave them a piss off stare. I wanted to be alone with my misery. I wanted to numb this pain and punish myself for what I’d done.

By last call, I was good and fucked up, slurring my words as I ordered one last whiskey.

“Okay. And then I’m gonna call you a cab, deputy.” The bartender gave me a no-bullshit look. “No driving for you.”

“I can call my own cab,” I scoffed, irritated I’d been recognized. Couldn’t I even go out and get shitfaced like a regular guy? “I don’t fucking need anyone to do anything for me.”

The guy poured my whiskey and set it in front of me. “Suit yourself.”

I yanked my phone from my pocket and was just about to get myself a ride home when I noticed that fucking bastard I’d interviewed at the hospital standing near the door, drinking a beer and laughing.

Something took over me, and I couldn’t stop myself. Fueled by righteous anger and a fuck ton of whiskey, I crossed the floor in three long, angry strides and spun him around by the shoulder.

“This is for your daughter, asshole,” I snarled before throwing my fist at his face. A sickening crack told me I’d likely broken his nose, but that didn’t stop me from moving in again and delivering a violent jab to his solar plexus, which sent him over backward, gasping for air. I stood over him threateningly. “And that was for me.”

Someone grabbed me before I could do any more damage, and I was tossed into a back office and told to sit down and stay quiet.

I threw myself into a chair and flopped forward over the desk, wondering if I’d wrecked my friendship with Meg and my career in one day.

Then I passed the fuck out.

A couple hours later, I was handed a cardboard cup of coffee, driven home by another deputy in the sheriff’s department, and told to take tomorrow off. Lucky for me, this would all be swept under the rug. The responding officers, friends and co-workers of mine, had told the jerk-off I’d hit to go home and shut up, and assured me the agency would pretend the whole thing had never happened.

But I knew I’d fucked up. And I felt like shit—not for punching the guy, because he’d deserved it, but for losing control.

This was why you couldn’t let emotions drive you. They were dangerous. They made you weak.

Exhausted and miserable, I trudged up the stairs and fell into bed, my heart and my head and my hand aching.

Tomorrow was going to suck.

But at least she’d be gone, and I could go back to being who I was before.

No matter how much it hurt.

Twenty-Eight

Meg

April drove me to the airport after the wedding brunch, which I barely touched.