Page 90 of Every Shattered Note
Her eyes flash with disbelief.“You’re sending me away?”
“It’s safer.”
“Safer for who?”
She steps closer, her anger burning beneath the hurt.“You think you get to decide that?You think you’re protecting me, but you’re just doing what everyone else does when things get hard.You’re running.”
She’s right.Every syllable of it.But I can’t stop myself.
“I can’t let them drag you into this,” I say, quieter now, my voice rough with exhaustion.“I’ve lived this story before, Aly.You haven’t.I need to protect you.”
Her voice trembles, but she doesn’t falter.“Then maybe it’s time someone helps you change the ending.”
The words slice through the distance between us.I swear the room goes still.
And for a moment, I can’t breathe.
“Aly, baby ...”My voice drops to a whisper.“This is going to take time, and you can’t take more time off.Even if I wanted you with me—which I do—it’s impossible.If you want, you can come for a day, but Seattle’s calling your name.”
She exhales, a sound caught between resignation and defiance, as if she’s saying,I hate it, but you’re right.
“How long will you be gone?”she asks.
I shrug, though it feels like an apology.“Honestly, I don’t know.Maybe I can swing home for a night.Maybe just a few hours.”I lean in, brush my lips against her nose.“Just long enough to see your beautiful face.”
Her eyes lift, unsure.“What if I visit you on—” She can’t finish the sentence.
“Spring’s your busiest season,” I remind her gently.“And Jules said your summer is busy too.”I kiss her eyelids, then her cheeks, one after the other, trying to memorize her warmth before I lose it.“I’d love to have you next to me.But I can’t ask you to give up your world to fix the fucking mess that’s mine.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue, but the silence between us says what neither of us can.She stays there, close enough that I can feel the heat of her skin and the ache that comes with knowing I’m about to let her go—because I love her too much to let her stay.
ChapterThirty-Four
Alyssa
The air on the tarmac carries the sting of jet fuel and salt, thick with the kind of silence that follows things breaking apart.
Wind slices across the runway, snapping through my hair, whipping strands across my face as I follow Dexter toward the planes.The sound of the engines rises and falls like a pulse that doesn’t belong to me.One plane for Los Angeles.The other for Seattle.Side by side, like a cruel visual of everything we almost were.Like fate drawing invisible lines between the present and what won’t survive the morning.
Dexter’s on the phone again.His voice is low, clipped, pulled tight around words I can’t hear—and don’t want to.Probably Eddie.Probably more fire to put out.The longer he talks, the farther he feels.By the time he hangs up, I’ve already started memorizing him.
The way his shirt sleeves are rolled up.The slope of his shoulders beneath fabric gone soft with wear.The small crease carved deep between his brows.The tiredness in his eyes that wasn’t there when we first landed.
When he finally turns to me, I know—I know—I’ll never forget the look on his face.It’s half apology, half something more fragile than anything he’s ever allowed me to touch.
“The jet to Seattle’s fueled,” he says quietly.“You’ll be home before sunset.”
Home.
He says it like it’s meant to comfort me.But it only sounds like distance.Like the final note in a song neither of us is ready to stop playing.
“And you?”I ask, already knowing the answer.
“L.A.first,” he replies.“A few days.Maybe a couple weeks.”
His voice catches on the word few, and we both feel it.We both know it could stretch into something far longer.Something without a return date.
We stand there in the roar of the runway, neither of us moving.The air hums loud enough to vibrate through my chest, but not loud enough to drown out the ache curling between us.
