Page 83 of Mirror Image

Her expression flickered—something hurt and furious and fragile all at once.

I didn’t give either of them a chance to say more. Walter was barking somewhere behind me, picking up on my panic. I scooped him up, turned, and left.

It was the only way to keep from screaming every hurt I’d swallowed since the day she showed up.

Walter and I took a long, slow walk around the neighborhood so I could untangle and process what had happened. More than an hour later I was able to return home—my home, not his. The apartment was dark except for a single lamp in the living room. Sam sat curled on the couch, socked feet tucked under her, twisting a tissue between her fingers.

Her eyes were red.

Mine probably weren’t much better.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”

I bypassed her, went straight to the kitchen, and poured myself a shot of rum. Then another. Then a third.

Only when I felt something like steadiness return did I sit across from her, Walter crawling into my lap.

“I’m done,” I said softly.

Sam’s face tightened. “Done with what?”

“This,” I said, motioning between us. “Us. Whatever this is.”

“I didn’t sleep with him,” she blurted. “I didn’t—Mary, I wouldn’t—”

“You kissed him,” I said. Calm. Too calm. “You put on my clothes. You acted like me. And you kissed him.”

“That’s all it was,” she insisted, voice cracking. “One kiss. One! I pulled away first! I only wanted you to see—”

“What?” I asked. “That he’s human? That he’s flawed? That he can make a stupid split-second mistake when a beautiful girl throws herself at him?”

Her chin trembled. “I wanted you to see that he didn’t deserve you.”

I stared at her for a long, heavy beat.

“And what if I’d married him?” I asked quietly. “What if he’d been part of my future?”

Her mouth opened and closed.

And then I saw it—all of it:

The fear of being left.

The fear of not mattering.

The fear of losing the only bond she’d ever had.

Her tears spilled over. “Where am I in that life, Mary? You only just found me. We only just—God, I thought maybe we were finally—” She swallowed. “I don’t want to lose you.”

And damn it, that almost broke me.

But I couldn’t save her at the cost of myself.

“I’m going home,” I said. “To Florida. To my life.”

“This is your home!” she shot back, but her voice wobbled. “With me. We’re supposed to—”

“No,” I whispered. “Not anymore.”