Page 29 of Awakening the Wild
But I was thinking. Calculating. Trying to find some angle Michael hadn't considered, some way to outmaneuver him at his own game. There had to be a way out of this that ended with Michael out of my life. The silence stretched between us, heavy with possibility and threat as I thought desperately what to do. Would my parents give me a loan?
"I can give you everything, Tonya," Michael continued, his voice turning persuasive. "The cottage, plus a penthouse overlooking Central Park. Designer clothes, exotic vacations, a social circle that actually matters. What can he offer you? This rustic cabin? A life of manual labor and isolation? What kind of life are you really building here?"
"I need time to think," I said. There had to be a solution.
I felt Kevin go rigid behind me, felt the sharp intake of breath that preceded something between a growl and a curse.
"Time?" Michael's smile widened. "Of course. You have until Friday, after all."
KEVIN
I need time to think.
Four words that cut deeper than any blade, that confirmed every fear I'd carried since childhood. She was considering it. Actually weighing her options between the life we'd built together and whatever gilded cage Michael was offering.
"Get out," I said, my voice deadly quiet. "Now."
Michael gathered his papers with satisfied efficiency. "Of course. I'll leave you two to discuss Tonya's decision. I'm staying at the Mountain View Inn in Stowe until Friday. Call me when you've come to your senses."
The moment the door closed behind him, Tonya spun to face me, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
"Kevin, I wasn't—"
"Weren't what? Considering his offer?" I stepped back from her reaching hands, needing distance before I said something that couldn't be taken back. "Because it sure as hell sounded like you were thinking about it."
"Will you just wait and give me a minute to think. To process.” I grabbed my hair and tugged. This was crazy. “The cottage is everything to me. You know that. It's the first place I've ever truly owned, the first thing I've built with my own hands—"
"And I'm what? Nothing?" The words came out harsher than I intended, but the pain was too raw to filter. "What we've built together means nothing compared to fifty acres of dirt?"
"That's not what I meant—"
"Then what did you mean?" I demanded. "Because from where I'm standing, you just told your ex-fiancé that you need time to decide between him and me. Over property."
"It's not just property!" Her voice cracked with desperation. "It's my independence. My proof that I can survive on my own. My—"
"Your escape route." The realization hit me like a physical blow. "That's what this is really about, isn't it? You're keeping your options open. Making sure you have somewhere to run when this gets too real."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" I laughed bitterly. "You won't move in with me because you need your independence. You panic when Michael threatens to take your cottage. You hesitate when he offers to give it back. What exactly am I supposed to think?"
She flinched like I'd slapped her. "You're supposed to trust me."
"Trust you?" The words tasted like ash in my mouth. "You just told the man who abused you for two years that you need time to think about his proposal. What part of that should inspire trust?"
"I was trying to find a way to keep the cottage without—"
"Without what? Choosing me?" I ran a hand through my hair, trying to contain the fury and hurt that were tearing me apart. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"
"Kevin, please—"
"No." I stepped further back, creating more distance between us. "I've been here before. Foster families who kept me until something better came along. Group homes that promised stability until funding got cut. I've lived my entire life being someone's temporary solution, their backup plan."
"You're not my backup plan. If you just let me explain."
"Then prove it." The challenge hung between us like a blade. "Choose. Right now. Me or the cottage. Us or your precious independence. But don't ask me to compete with ghosts and real estate."
Tears were streaming down her face now, and seeing her pain should have softened my anger. Instead, it just reminded me how easily she cried when things got difficult. How quickly she folded under pressure.
