Page 66 of Hunter

The pain she’s feeling now is momentary. I remind myself of that. She’ll be fine. Sophia is the strongest person I know. She’ll move on from this. She’ll get to live a normal life, a life free of danger, free of me.

This is the only way I can keep her safe.

I repeat the mantra in my head over and over until the words are tattooed on my soul. This is how it has to be. If I stay with her, I’ll get her killed.

An hour later, we turned right into her neighborhood. My heart races faster with every passing second, the distance between her house and me shrinking, but it feels like the ground is pulling me deeper. The silence in the car is suffocating, a stark contrast to the usual banter we share. It’s like we’re both trapped in our own worlds, too afraid to break the stillness with the truth.

Scared, pathetic man.

I’ve been dragging this on—not for her, but for me. If I wasn’t such a selfish coward, I would’ve ripped the bandage off back at the hospital, but I used her lack of a car as my excuse to delay the inevitable.

I pull into her driveway and shift the car into park, but I don’t turn the engine off. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel as I sit there, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

“What’s going on?”

Her voice pierces the silence, demanding an answer I don’t have. I don’t know what to say to her, don’t know how to explain the storm tearing through me. I open my mouth, but the words won’t come. It’s like my brain is frozen, unable to form anything coherent, and my chest aches with the weight of everything unsaid.

She doesn’t wait for me. She grabs my face, forcing me to look at her, but I can’t. Every inch of her pain-filled eyes chips away at the control I’m clinging to, leaving me raw, exposed.

I jerk away like the coward I am, the monster I know I am. I refuse to see what I’ve done to her, refuse to look at the hurt, the confusion, the betrayal etched across her face.

I want to remember the way she looks at me when she’s in love, the joy she radiates when we’re together. That’s the version of her I want to hold onto. That’s the version of her that haunts me at night.

But no, that’s not what I deserve to remember.

What I deserve to see every time I close my eyes is the anger she’s looking at me with, the way she can barely contain the betrayal in her gaze.

The crease on her forehead deepens, and I can feel the seconds dragging on, heavy and suffocating, as I fail to say anything. Her hands move to my shoulder, shaking me gently, like she’s trying to force the truth out of me.

“Talk to me,” she pleads, her voice cracking with desperation. “Tell me what’s going on. Why are you acting like this?” Her eyes fall to the luggage in the back seat, and I know what she’s thinking before she says anything.

I brace myself, my jaw tightening, ready for the fight that’s coming.

“I’m leaving tonight for Russia,” I say, the lie tasting bitter as it leaves my lips. “I have business to take care of, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be there.”

I tell myself this is for her safety, that it’s the only way to keep her out of harm’s way, but the words feel hollow. I’m telling her this, but all I want is for her to fight me, to stop me, to scream at me.

Her gaze falters, her body language shifting, her arms crossing defensively as she tries to hold herself together. “Don’t leave me,” she says, her voice small, the desperation bleeding through.

“I have to leave, Sophia.” I gesture for her to get out of the car, but she doesn’t move.

“No.” Her voice cracks as she shakes her head, the refusal clear in the way she stands, stubborn and hurt. “No.”

“Soph—” My voice falters, betraying the emotions I’m desperately trying to bury. “Sophia, please don’t make this harder than it already is. I need to leave now to catch my flight.”

Her head jerks back like I’ve struck her, and it’s like a knife twisting in my chest.

I’m doing this for you.

I remind myself over and over, but it doesn’t change the fact that all I’m doing is destroying her. I just want to protect her, but it feels like I’m breaking her in the process.

“Go.” The word barely makes it past my lips, thick and choking.

“If I walk out that door,” she points to the house, her voice trembling with emotion, “we’re done.”

The intensity in her eyes hits me like a freight train, and it knocks the breath out of me. “Is that what you want?” She waits for me to respond, but I’m too paralyzed to say anything.

She stays there for a few minutes, watching me, waiting for an answer I can’t give. Finally, her frustration spills over. She groans, defeated, and then opens the door, slamming it behind her with a finality that rings in my ears.

---