When I reach the house, my brows furrow. Georgia’s Jeep is parked in the drive like always, but the passenger door’s open. I jog the last few steps and shake my head, smiling.
“Frazzled little tornado,” I mutter, moving to close it.
But when I reach it, I go still.
Piled inside are clothes. Not just a bag or some spare laundry, but all her shit.
Shoes. Her laptop. That green dress she wore to Sunday dinner last week. The one that had me damn near feral all night.
I grip the side of the car as my stomach flips violently.
“Comin’ or goin’?” I rasp, mind spinning violently.
But I already know.
The front door creaks open behind me, and a suitcase hits the ground behind her. A pained groan catches in my throat, knees going weak.
Her head jerks up and she freezes.
Georgia’s hair’s a mess. Face blotchy and red. Shoulders hunched like she’s carrying the weight of the world and losing.And even like this, wrecked and breaking, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
And I can’t fuckingbreathe.
“No.” The word snaps from my throat like it’s been lit on fire. “No.”
She startles like I’ve struck her and tears her eyes away, bolting down the steps. Her hand grips the suitcase handle like it’s the only thing holding her together, but she doesn’t speak or pause or fuckin’ look at me.
“Georgia,” I bark, heart hammering so hard, Aurora stirs. “Stop. What the hell are you doing?”
Why won’t she look at me?
“Please,” she finally chokes. “Please just let me go.”
“No,” I snap again, louder, and my voice cracks. “You don’t get to just walk out on us.”
Aurora shifts against me, confused, and my hands are trembling so badly I can barely comfort her.
“I never should’ve stayed so long,” she says, voice high and shaking. “I knew better. I knew better.Iknewbetter.”
“Stop,” I beg, chasing after her. “Talk to me. What the fuck is going on?”
She’s trying to pull away from me now, but I reach out, gripping her shoulders, desperate and breaking alongside her.
“Please,” she sobs, whipping her head back and forth. “Just let me—”
“I said no!”
The sharpness of it slices through the air like thunder.
Aurora startles in the carrier, letting out a terrified whimper. I look down and she’s staring up at me with wide, scared eyes, her mouth puckered and trembling.
My stomach drops to the fucking ground.
“No,” I whisper, breaking instantly. “No, no, baby girl. I’m sorry.” I press my lips to her forehead, heart shattering. “I’m so sorry. I’m not mad. I’m not mad, sweetheart.”
Georgia makes a noise between a sob and a pained moan. Her hand twitches like she wants to reach for Aurora but can’t.
“She was right,” she chokes out. “You’re so good for her.”
