And fuck, I can’t let that happen. I don’t know what else to do except beg.
"Mads, please. Don’t run from this, from me."
She shakes her head again, like she can’t process it, like she doesn’t know what to do with this information now that she has it.
I panic.
I know her. I know how she runs when things get too big, too real, too much.
I erase the distance between us, my hands cradling her face, my thumbs brushing against her cheeks, my chest tightening when I realize she’s trembling.
Her lips part, but she still doesn’t say anything.
I swallow hard, my vision blurring, and I realize too late that there are tears sliding down my own cheeks.
"Please, baby." My voice cracks, my forehead pressing against hers, my hands tightening just slightly, desperate to keep her here. "Don’t do this."
She closes her eyes, her breath shaky, and I can see her fighting it—fighting us, fighting herself. When she finally opens them?—
I know I’ve already lost. I can see it—feel it—happening right in front of me.
Her lips part like she wants to say something but can’t find the words. Her breathing is still uneven, her eyes too wide, her pulse racing against my fingertips as I cradle her face.
I memorize everything: the way her lashes tremble, the small crease between her brows, the flush of her skin under the streetlight, the way her hazel eyes flicker with so many emotions, I can’t decipher them all.
She licks her lips, inhales sharply— then, softly, barely above a whisper—"I need space."
The words slam into my chest like a hit I didn’t see coming, knocking the air straight out of my lungs. I swallow hard, my hands tightening on her cheeks, like I can somehow hold her here, like I can keep her with me.
But I can’t.
So, instead, I force myself to nod, knowing I have to let her go.
Maybe it’s selfish, so damn selfish, but before I do, I pull her in. I wrap my arms around her fully, pressing her to me, memorizing the way her body fits against mine in case this is the last time.
The last time I get to hold her like this.
The last time I get to breathe her in, my nose buried in her hair, her heartbeat pounding against mine.
She tenses for a second—just a second—before she exhales, her body softening into mine.
And I take it. I let myself have this one last thing.
Then, with every ounce of restraint I have, I tilt her chin up and press my lips gently against her forehead. She trembles, a sob working itself from her throat. Then, she’s gone.
I don’t watch her leave.
I can’t.
If I do, I don’t know if I’ll be able to let her walk away.
The music blasts the second I step back through the door, but it feels like background noise, muffled and distant compared to the absolute wreckage in my chest.
I don’t even know how I find Carter. I just do, like my body knows where to go.
He turns at the sight of me, his brows furrowing instantly. "Damn, man. What happened?"
I exhale, shaking my head, my voice rough when I answer. "She’s gone."
