Page 112 of Surrender to Me
And this morning, the bacon isn’t burned.
Unaware of my inner turmoil, he tears a piece of bacon in half and holds it to my lips.
Obediently I open my mouth, and he slides the bacon in. The salt and smoke explode across my tongue, and I chew slowly, swallowing the taste of him along with it. This is the last meal I will ever share with him, and the knowledge sits heavy in my stomach.
He feeds me another piece, then a bite of egg, his gaze steady on my face.
I’m desperate to memorize the way the light catches in his eyes, the small scar at the corner of his mouth, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. I want to bottle this moment and keep it forever, but the clock is ticking and Remy is coming.
Stryker sets the plate aside and studies me hard. “I need to take a shower, then check in with headquarters.”
“Take your time.”
Instead, he cups my shoulders. “I have plans for you this morning.”
My pulse stutters.
If only…
I force a smile. “Oh?”
“Get yourself ready for me, sweetheart.”
He disappears down the hall, and the water starts, a steady rush behind the closed door. I count heartbeats—one, two, three—then move.
The distant rumble of an engine cuts through the quiet, growing louder, closer. Remy. I slip on my shoes, grab my coat from the hook, shove my arms into the sleeves, pick up my go bag, and slip out the door.
The freezing temperature slaps my face and steals my breath. Snow crunches under my feet as I push through the drifts toward the tree line, the go bag thumping against my hip.
I move as fast as I can, knowing I don’t have much time.
Behind me, I hear the cabin door bang open. “Allie!”
I hesitate for a second, looking back to see Stryker on the porch, towel knotted low on his hips.
His eyes lock on mine across the snow, and the world narrows to that single point of contact.
Remy’s snowmobile bursts from the trees, engine snarling, snow spraying in a wide arc. He skids to a stop beside me, helmet visor up, eyes sharp.
“We gotta go, Lyra.”
With an exhalation filled with remorse, I swing on behind him, my arms sliding around his waist, my cheek pressed to the cold leather of his jacket.
Stryker stands motionless on the porch, his face carved from granite and heartbreak. His mouth shapes my name—Allie—but no sound reaches me over the roar of the engine.
Remy guns it.
The snowmobile jerks forward, the track biting hard into the snow, and we rocket into the trees.
Once last time, I twist to look back. Stryker hasn’t moved. His eyes are dark with fury and hurt, and that spears straight through my chest.
I mouth the words across the widening distance.
I’m sorry.
Chapter Thirty-One
Lyra
