Page 68 of Careless Hope

“Stop?” Confusion laced his voice as he leaned forward, his brows knitting together. “Stop what, exactly?”

“The arrangement,” I said, the words tasting bitter. “The flirting, the . . . lessons. Practicing. It’s just not necessary anymore.”

He stared at me, silent for a long beat, and I could almost hear the cogs turning in his head. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s not that.” My throat tightened, and I fought the urge to spill everything—my fears, my desires, the way my heart clenched painfully every time he smiled. But I couldn’t. Not when I was so close to losing all semblance of self-preservation. “I just . . . don’t need your help anymore.”

“Caroline.” His voice was soft, probing. “There’s more to it, isn’t there? You can tell me.”

But I couldn’t. Telling him would mean exposing my heart, and I wasn’t ready to watch him walk away with it. So, I did what I do best—I retreated behind my walls of professionalism and logic.

“Let’s just say I’m taking a different approach to things,” I lied, hating the taste of deception on my tongue. “And I really appreciate everything you’ve taught me, truly. But this is goodbye to all that.”

He stood up, towering over me, his expression unreadable. “Is this really what you want?”

“It is,” I said, though my heart screamed otherwise.

“Doesn’t look like it. Didn’t feel like it the other night at the river.”

“Yes, well. That was just practice, remember? You said so yourself. And I no longer need to practice.”

His eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind the light blue façade. “Just practice,” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous, almost as if he was challenging me to admit it was more to me.

I stood my ground, fighting the urge to reach out to him, to take back my words and lose myself in his embrace once more. “Just practice,” I repeated, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. Those were his words. He’d said as much right after he kissed me on that blanket by the river. So why did it seem to bother him now?

Walker’s gaze bore into mine, piercing through my carefully constructed walls with a precision that left me breathless. He took a step closer, closing the gap between us until I could feel the warmth radiating off his body, a stark contrast to the cold certainty in his eyes.

“You’re lying,” he stated simply, a flicker of hurt flashing across his features before being replaced by a mask of indifference.

“I’m not,” I countered, my voice barely above a whisper as I fought to keep my composure. “This is for the best, Walker.”

“And what about my side of the arrangement? Gray is finally close to workin’ with me here, and it’s all because of you. You’re just gonna leave me high and dry?”

“Gray is coming around because of you, not me. He’s finally seeing you deserve it. And as far as he’s concerned, us ‘breaking up’ wouldn’t be out of the question, I mean, it’s not like you’ve ever had a relationship before. I’m sure he’s half expecting it.”

Walker’s jaw clenched at my words, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he processed what I had just said. His normally easy expression had hardened into something unreadable, a storm brewing beneath the surface. I could see the hurt in his eyes, a vulnerability he rarely showed to anyone, and it tugged at something deep within me.

Maybe it had been out of line to say it, but it wasn’t wrong.

“Right. ‘Cause if there’s one thing about me, it’s that everyone knows I’m a fuck up.”

“Walker, that’s not what I meant.”

“Right.”

“It’s not. Besides, this isn’t about you. The whole point of this was to learn how to get a man, and I’ve met someone.” The lie rolled off my tongue before I had a chance to think it through. Only that this was the easiest way to show him that this needed to end and it wasn’t his fault.

Walker huffed out a laugh but it was humorless; a clear sign of the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. “You met someone?” His voice cracked like a whip, sharp and disbelieving.

“Y-yes,” I stuttered, the lie heavy on my tongue. “It’s new, and I want to see where it might lead.”

“New,” he echoed hollowly, the light in his eyes dimming as if a cloud had just snuffed out the sun over Whittier Falls. He blinked slowly, once, twice, trying to process my words while his hands flexed at his sides as though grappling with an invisible rope.

“You did a great job helping me learn this stuff,” I said, gesturing around as if thestuffwere here in the living room with us. I wanted to shrivel up and hide.

“So that’s it then, huh? I do all that work to help you, and when I need your help, you bail on me?”

“I’m sorry.” It was all I could say. The fact that he didn’t care about losing us, but losing out on his end of the deal made this all somehow easier and much more devastating at the same time.

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