“I can’t keep doing this anymore, Dylan.”
“Doing what?”
“This.” She gestures between us. “Whatever this is, I’m done with it.”
“Nothing.” The moment the word leave my lips, I wish I could take it back. “We’re just?—”
“Just what?” she demands, tears filling her eyes. “Go ahead, I would love to hear what you have to say about it. What are we? What am I to you? Because, as far as I know, we never even officially broke up. You just told me to get out of that hospital room, then told your family not to let me see you.”
I swallow hard. You’re the only piece of joy I have left in my life, and I’m so afraid to taint it that I can only watch from a distance.
“Who is he?”
She gapes up at me, her broken heart right there for the world to see. I did that. I’m more of a risk to her than anyone else, so why did I do this? Why did I linger around when I bring her nothing but pain?
“He’s none of your business.”
“Emma.”
“No.” She glares up at me, standing closer than she’s been since I got back ten years ago. So close that I can see each and every color variation in her gorgeous eyes. “You don’t get to care anymore, Dylan. You threw that away when you decided I wasn’t allowed to be a part of your new life.” She shoves past me and unlocks her car, then tosses her purse inside before whirling on me again. “You are going to leave me alone. Do you hear me? No more sneaking flowers on my birthday, no more showing up when I’m working late. You don’t want to be in my life? Then don’t be in my life!” She’s yelling now, so loud that people who are walking by the church pause to look.
The edges of my vision begin to cloud. “You’re making a scene.” I need her to stop yelling. I need to regain control of myself. Of my racing heart.
She seizes up, her already furious gaze darkening like the sky before a storm. “Oh, I’m making a scene? Fine.” Emma rips the back door of her car open and pulls out a box containing what are now wilted flowers, along with all ten vases I’ve brought her over the years. “Here’s your scene.” She shoves them into my hands. “Take these back. And don’t even think about pretending like they aren’t yours.” Angry tears stream down her cheeks. “How dare you ruin this for me, Dylan Hunt. How dare you act like you care when we both know I’m nothing but a guilt project for you.”
I toss the box to the side, not caring when I hear glass shatter as my own temper flares. “A guilt project? What is that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means. Poor little Emma had her heart broken. Poor little Emma still needs big, strong Dylan Hunt to look out for her.” She rams her finger into my chest, and my consciousness slips.
My breathing grows ragged, and tunnel vision takes over.
All while she’s still yelling at me.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t see anything but anger.
Red.
Fury.
“Hey! What is going on here?” Bradyn. His voice grounds me, but it’s not enough.
Emma is still yelling.
“I don’t need or want you around me, Dylan. You got that? Keep your distance, and stay out of my life!” Her door slams.
“Dylan.”
“I can’t—I can’t breathe.” I try to suck in some air, but it’s strained, as though I’m trying to breathe through the hollow part of a pen.
“Come on.”
“Don’t touch me. Please. I just need a minute.” The voices are loud in my head—the yelling. The anger. Black spots have infiltrated my vision, making it nearly impossible to see anything but the darkness.
Faceless men reach for me.
I clench my hands into fists.
