He smiled placidly. “Could be if you wanted it to be.”
“I know you think that. We both know I have to leave. It’s okay. It’s a good thing for me. Now that your problem with those people is taken care of, everything going forward is going to be good for you, too.”
Things would be a lotbetterfor him going forward if he was able to go forward with her, but she had a point. She needed the program she was leaving for, and real love meant letting someone go if that’s what they needed.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know it’s going to be good for you.”
Skye paused for an extended moment; eyes turned down. “I know you want things, and I’m sad that I’m too messed up to give them to you.” She looked up at him through glossy eyes and forced a smile. “But I remember when you said there’s always going to be some spoiled little rich kid in New Orleans who loves me. So you should know that there’s always going to be some rehabilitated hooker out in the world who loves you back.”
She started to slip her hand away from his, but Brennan reflexively squeezed her hand to keep holding on.
The things he’d loved the most always slipped through his goddamned fingers, and the idea of her slipping away too suddenly turned his stomach.
She didn’t have to slip away. She could still do all the things she needed to, but that didn’t mean she had to disappear from his life forever.
Possibilities and hope unfurled in his mind and heart, but it was all quickly checked by the fact that it all depended on whatshewanted.
Even if he waited for her, those possibilities might not be what she wanted. And what she wanted now versus a year from now might also be completely different. It was a can of worms, for sure, but it was one Brennan suddenly had a visceral need to open, and it was one he wanted to open with her.
Just not right then. Not while he was all foggy on meds. But he would.
At some point during the next few days before she left, he was going to ask.
37
FRENCH QUARTER, NEW ORLEANS
The day arrived way too soon. The morning passed way too quickly. There were too many dense silences between Skye and Brennan. But then again, what was there to say before a goodbye like this? And how could you say it at all with a giant lump in your throat?
Skye rolled her small suitcase to the front door and waited. Brennan stepped into the room a moment later, immediately slipping on a pair of movie star shades. He foolishly attempted to pick up the bag with his good arm, and she stopped him, touching his elbow.
“You don’t need to carry that.” The fragileness of her voice came out sounding terse and clipped. “You’re supposed to keep your arm as still as possible, and that’s going to throw you off balance. I can carry my own bag.”
He gave a single nod and let go of the handle to gesture at the door with his good arm. Skye took one last long look around the beautiful, old house before stepping outside and leaving it forever.
Brennan’s silence persisted for the whole drive to the airport. She kept her face turned toward the window as she alternated biting back the urge to cry and silently giving into it. The twenty-five-minute drive seemed to last an excruciating eternity, but—just like her entire time with him—it ended way too soon.
Once he pulled up to the curb, Brennan stepped out of the car to cross around to open her door, and then stood behind it, holding his hand out for her. She held it and stepped out, and he clicked the key fob to open the trunk. She removed her suitcase, closed the trunk, and then stood on the sidewalk in front of him.
He still wore the shades, and the parts of his face she could see appeared pleasantly neutral, all the while she was a weepy, snotty, splotchy mess. One of his hands was in his pocket, and the other arm was strapped into a sling like the one she’d worn after the attack that had forced them into the unexpected months of closeness. Months during which he’d fallen in love, and she’d realized, albeit far later, that she had, too.
And this was it. The last moment.
And he was wearingsunglasses.
Skye reached for his shades and pulled them off his face. His eyes were turned down so far that they appeared closed. After a moment, he slid them up to meet hers. They were redder than she’d ever seen and brimming to overflowing with tears. She’d seen him choked up on a few occasions, but it was never anything like this. He couldn’t even speak.
The amount of heartbreak weighing on the small atmosphere around them catapulted a sob out of her throat. She dropped her head forward, clutching his shades against her chest, as if that small piece of him might hold together all the pieces of her shattered heart. His hand settled on the back of her head, and he pulled her against him.
“I love you so much, Skye.” His voice was quieter and more fragile than she’d ever heard, and this was too much.
This wasn’t worth it. It hurt way too much.
Why was she doing this?
Honestly why?
Why couldn’t she juststay?
