Page 70 of Almost Yours
I think about late nights staring at my phone, wondering if silence means he’s busy…or something worse. I think about missed calls, about news headlines I’ll start scanning, about learning to live in the space between updates.
“And overseas?” I press. “What does that actually mean?”
“Different contracts. Different clients. Sometimes unstable areas.” He exhales, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “And there are things I wouldn’t be able to tell you. Details. Locations, sometimes. It’s part of the job.”
That lands harder than anything else.
“You wouldn’t tell me where you are?”
“I’d tell you what I can,” he says quickly. “But there are restrictions sometimes, Violet. NDAs, security protocols.”
“And what…” My voice wavers, and I steady it. “What about us communicating? Am I just supposed to sit here and hope you’re okay?”
“I’d call when I can. Text when it’s possible. Some jobs are better than others for that.”
Some jobs. Meaning some aren’t.
The room feels smaller, like the walls have edged closer while I wasn’t looking. After all this—after finding our way back, after finally letting myself believe this could work—he’s already halfway gone.
“You’re going to be leaving.”
“I’d be coming back,” he says. “This is home.You’remy home.”
He reaches across the table, his hand palm up, an invitation. I hesitate before sliding my fingers into his.
“This first trip would be three weeks, which is probably the longest one I’ll take. Others might only be a few days. It’s good money, Violet.”
“I don’t care about the money.” My voice cracks, and I hate it. Hate how quickly I’m crumbling when I should be supporting him.
“I need to do this,” he says, squeezing my hand. “For me. For us.”
He’s trying to make it sound simple, like it’s a logical next step. All it sounds like to me is the start of another goodbye.
“And you want to go?” I ask, keeping my voice even. I don’twant to be the reason he stays or the reason he resents me if he doesn’t.
He hesitates, and that silence is its own answer. “I think it could be good,” he says eventually.
I glance at the plate in front of me, the dinner we both barely touched. I force a nod, though my stomach has already started to turn.
“Three weeks?”
“Yeah.”
“Three weeks,” I repeat softly. I could ask him not to go. The words are right there, stuck in my throat like thorns.Please stay, don’t leave me again.
I swallow them down and force a smile instead.
He deserves this opportunity. Who am I to hold him back? The last thing I want is to be the reason he gives up something important.
“You’re upset,” he says, and it’s not a question.
I shake my head, pulling my hand away to reach for my water glass. “I’m not upset. I’m just...processing.”
“Violet—”
“It’s a good opportunity,” I say quickly, cutting him off before he can say something that makes this harder. “I get it. I do.”
Rowan’s eyes narrow. He knows me too well to believe the lie. “Talk to me. Please.”
