Page 33 of Forbidden Passions

“No, you’re hiding up here for a reason,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Call it what you want. This is my life. The one I’ve chosen.” I stepped back, creating physical distance to match the emotional walls I was rebuilding. “Get dressed, I’ll take you back down the mountain.”

Hurt flashed across her face, quickly masked by anger. “Fine. Message received, loud and clear.”

She turned and walked back into the cabin, the door closing firmly behind her.

I stood on the porch, the beautiful sunrise forgotten as I battled the urge to follow her, to take back every stupid word, to beg her to stay even though I knew it was impossible.

Instead, I remained where I was, watching as the last wisps of fog burned away in the strengthening light, leaving the world clear and empty.

Just like my future.

Everyone I ever loved had left me one way or another. My parents in a car wreck. My brothers in the sand. My sister in a fucking hospital bed, smiling even as she slipped away. I was tired of standing over graves. Tired of believing that maybe this time would be different. So I pushed Callie away. Because maybe if she left now, it wouldn’t gut me later. Maybe I could still pretend it hadn’t meant anything.

By the time I went back inside, Callie had showered and dressed in her own clothes, which I’d washed and dried during our first day together. The sight of her in something other than my oversized flannel shirt was a stark reminder that she didn’t belong here. Had never belonged here. It felt like watching her armor go back on. A reminder that the softness she’d given me wasn’t mine to keep.

Max sat by her feet as she stood in the kitchen, her expression carefully neutral when I entered.

“I’d appreciate you driving me to my cabin,” she said, voice clipped. “I don’t really feel like hiking back down.”

I got my truck out of the shed and we headed down the mountain. The silence between us was oppressive, filled with all the things we weren’t saying.

It felt like I was already grieving for her. Like some part of me had already decided she was a loss I needed to brace for. I’d lost too much. Too many goodbyes, each one carving something out of me until all that was left was a man who walked away before anything could be taken.

But some part of me kept waiting for her to say something that would let me fix it. I kept hoping I’d find the courage to offer more than silence. But I didn’t. And neither did she.

When we reached the turnoff to the small group of rental cabins where she was staying, I pulled up to the one she indicated.

For a moment, we sat there, the air between us charged with everything unsaid. I should say something—anything—to ease the knot of misery in her expression. To explain why I couldn’t be what she wanted.

But the words wouldn’t come.

“This is me,” she said unnecessarily.

I nodded, putting the truck in park but leaving the engine running. “Do you need help with anything?”

“No.” Max whined from the back seat, sensing the tension between us. “Come on, buddy,” she said, opening the door for him to jump out.

All that training, all that discipline—and I couldn’t manage one fucking sentence that would make this hurt less.

“Well,” she said finally, hand on the door handle. “Thanks for the rescue. And the hospitality.”

“Callie—” I began, not sure what I was going to say.

“Don’t,” she cut me off. “Just... don’t make this worse than it already is.”

At the door to her cabin, she paused, looking back at me with an expression that would haunt me for days to come.

“You know what the saddest part is?” she said, just loud enough for me to hear. “You’ve convinced yourself you’re better off alone. But the man I got to know these past few days? He deserves more than that.”

Before I could respond, she disappeared inside, the door closing with a finality that echoed in the empty space she left behind.

The silence she left in her wake wasn’t peaceful. It was suffocating.

I sat there for a long moment, engine idling, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to hurt. Everything in me screamed to go after her, to apologize, to beg her to understand why I had to push her away.

But I didn’t.

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