Page 26 of You Had Me At Valentine

“Wait.” I try to catch her hand. “Let me explain.”

But she’s already scanning down the page, and I see the moment everything clicks. Her fingers tighten on the paper, knuckles white.

“This is dated the day we broke up. Overten years ago.”

“Actually, I wrote it the day before that.” The words slip out before I can stop them. Brilliant legal mind at work here, folks.

Her eyes snap to mine. “You wrote this the day before you told me you didn’t feel the same way about me? The day before you said we were too young to know what we wanted?”

This would be an excellent time to come up with a calm, reasonable explanation about her father. About impossible choices and ultimatums. About spending the last decade trying to become someone worthy of a second chance.

Instead, I say, “I can explain.”

“Can you?” She holds up the Valentine. “Because from where I’m standing, you had two very different stories going on. Which was the lie, Byron? This?” She shakes the paper. “Or what you said when you broke my heart?”

The crowd around us has gone quiet. Or maybe that’s just the blood rushing in my ears creating this resounding silence.

“Neither.” My voice cracks. “Both. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated.” She lets out a laugh that contains zero humor. “You know what’s not complicated? The fact that you kept this from me. Again. Even after last night.”

She touches the pendant at her throat and my chest caves in.

“That’s why I wanted to tell you first. Why I was trying to—”

“To what? Keep more secrets? Control the narrative?”

Of course she’d pick that exact phrase. Because it’s what I do.

“I know how it looks.” I scrub a hand over my face. “Like I chose his money over you.”

Oh, boy, I’m leading the witness—myself—right off a cliff. I really don’t know how I passed the bar at this point.

“Didn’t you?” Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “Breaking my heart was just an unfortunate side effect of getting your free law degree. Isn’t that what happened?”

It is. But it’s not what I meant to happen. Or for it to sound so cold. “No. Lyra—”

“All this time I thought you didn’t feel what I felt. That Imisunderstood.” She lets out a shaky breath. “But really, you just got a better offer. I was the trade-off for your future.”

The truth lodges in my chest like broken glass. Because I did choose my future—our future, I thought. The responsible path. The one that gave me time to become someone her father would respect. Someone worthy of a MacLellan.

What I never calculated was the cost. Not just to her, but to both of us.

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” My voice scrapes across my raw throat. “Your father said you deserved better than some kid who couldn’t even afford college. And he was right.”

She buries her face in her hands. Crying. Because of me and what I just told her.

I take a step forward to comfort her, if she’ll let me, and then she lifts her head. No tears. She’s laughing. Bitterly.

“I should have known Laird MacLellan would make an appearance in this debacle. He warned you away, didn’t he.”

It’s not a question and I don’t dare answer it. She figures it out on her own, nodding once as fire spits from her gaze.

“That wasn’t your choice to make.” She gestures around the crowded inn. “And now you’re back, helping him take the last piece of my grandmother I have left. Still loyal to Lachlan MacLellan, no matter who it hurts.”

Each word burrows into my skin like shrapnel. Because she’s not just talking about the inn anymore. She’s talking about choices. About who I’m choosing to be.

And claiming that I’m operating out of a sense of loyalty isn’t cutting it anymore.

---