Page 96 of Cold Mercy

“I won’t be staying here anymore,” I say quietly. “I need to disappear for a while. Don't make this harder.”

I move toward the hallway. Not because I want to leave quickly, but if I stay one more second in that room, I’ll end up pulling her into me again.

I hear her footsteps behind me, too fast for someone still dizzy.

“Thomas, don’t walk out like this. We’re adults,” she says, grabbing the banister as she hurries after me. “Just talk to me, whatever I did wrong, tell me and I’ll fix it.”

Her voice cracks on that last word, and I feel something inside me splinter.

You didn’t do anything wrong, baby. You were perfect. I’m the disease here.

I can't say what I really want to, so I just keep walking, because retreat is the only option left. But it's useless, she follows anyway.

“Moreau,” I mutter, harsher than I intend, “someone is allowed to make a decision without explaining every thought to you. I’m not your husband. I don't owe you a report.”

The moment her last name leaves my mouth, she stops dead on the stairs. I feel it even without turning around. When she moves again, her steps are smaller, slower, as if she’s trying not to break through her own floorboards.

“I think I deserve to know what happened,” she says quietly, catching up to me by the front door. “Just…tell me something, anything.”

I can’t. If I look at her now, I’m done.

Her voice drops to a whisper.

“I care about you, Thomas. Please…don’t make me feel stupid for it.”

She grabs my arm and forces me to face her, and her eyes are so full of everything she’s been holding back that I can barely breathe.

“With you,” she says, trying to steady her voice, “I felt safe. You made it easy to put my guard down again. I don’t want to pretend that didn’t happen. I want to see what could be between us, that’s all I’m asking for.”

Her words hit me harder than any punch I’ve taken in my life. For a moment I forget every rule I’ve ever sworn to, every line Grace drew, every consequence waiting for both of us if I stay. But I'm just a monster dressed in a savior’s skin.

I have to kill it. I have to kill the hope in her eyes.

I open the door, and rain blows straight into the hallway.

“I’m sorry, Sophia,” I say, forcing a bored, detached tone. “But you’re reading far too much into this. Whatever you think happened between us…it wasn’t a promise. It was just a good time…”

Her face goes completely still, like someone just reached into her chest and pulled out every last piece holding her together.

I force myself to shrug, slipping my hands into my pockets to hide the tremors.

“I’m not the kind of guy who stays, Sophia. You knew that. I don’t do ‘forever.’ I don’t do ‘domestic.’” I look at her, channeling every ounce of cruelty I have left. “You were a distraction. It was fun, really. But I don’t settle down.”

I want to vomit.

I want to cut my own tongue out. Every word is a lie. I don’t want to move on. I want to stay right here, in this hallway, for the rest of my damn life.

She follows me outside barefoot, rain soaking her skin instantly, but she doesn’t seem to feel it. She stares at me, searching for the lie, searching for the man who held her last night.

“I don’t fucking believe you,” she hisses.

“Believe what you want,” I say coldly. “But the truth is, the novelty wore off, and I have a life to get back to. One that doesn't involve playing house with a grieving widow.”

I am destroying her. I can see it happening in real time. The light in her eyes is dying. I am proving her right. That everyone leaves, that everyone lies, that she is unlovable. I am the villain she always feared I would be.

She doesn’t scream, doesn’t slap me.

Instead, tears spill over her lashes, silent and fast, tracking down her cheeks. But she doesn't look angry. She looks terrifyingly calm.