Page 112 of Run For Me
“I know the person you showed me. The man you hid behind a mask. I don’t know you. The man the rest of the world knows.”
“But that’s… I thought that’s what we were doing now?”
She shakes her head, facing away from me and taking a slow breath.
It hits me then—what’s happening. It’s not just a worry anymore. It’s actually happening.
“You’re not…” I stop, unable to say the words.
I’ve been so caught up in her for so long that I didn’t consider it ending. She is mine. I’m hers. We agreed to do this.
“You’re not leaving me,” I say.
She flinches, her eyes closing. “You won’t let me?” she asks so quietly I hardly hear it.
I want to tell her no. I want to grasp her face and scream that I am absolutely not letting her go, ever. That I’d rather die than see her leave me. But I can’t do that because her concerns are valid.
I’ve been worried about my mother for weeks now. I was aware something like this could happen. It’s my fault. I wasn’t careful enough and Sailor paid the price. And now that I’ve saved her, I’m paying the price.
“Let me prove to you that I’m not bad,” I say, my voice cracking. “Let me show you that I’m good.”
She takes a shaky breath as she reaches for the door handle.
“Please, just give me some time, Sailor.” She hesitates before opening the door, and when she does, she does it slowly. Pushing it and getting out cautiously, as if she’s waiting for me to lunge for her and force her to stay.
I want to. I need to. I can’t let her go.
She can’t just walk away from me. From this. From us.
She can’t.
My chest is burning fiercely.
“Sailor, please don’t do this!” I call out after her, my hands gripping the steering wheel. I’m torn between going after her and letting her go.
Forcing her to stay will only make her more scared.
But if I let her go…
If I let her go…
She pauses for a brief moment, and I think she’s changed her mind. I think she’s going to get back in the car with me or invite me inside.
She does neither.
She closes the door and walks to her front door.
I shouldn’t get out of the car. It’ll only make things worse. But I’m moving before I can stop myself.
Thinking of not being near her makes me sick to my stomach. Dizzy.
“Sailor, please,” I beg as I jog toward the steps.
“Jaxon—” she gasps, cowering toward the corner of the small porch. I step back, frowning. Hating myself for this, for what I’ve allowed to happen.
“Little dove,” I say, slowly walking toward her. She flinches when I reach my hand out, brushing my thumb along her cheek. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I would never hurt you.”
“Then let me go,” she says brokenly.
