My back snaps straight. “Don’t you dare imply that not going to therapy is somehow my fault. I would never get in the way of that. Ever.”

John’s shoulders sag, and he grips the ends of his hair. “I know that. I didn’t mean … No, all right? I forgot. But I really don’t need to be reminded about how I fucked that up too.”

“I’m not …” I take a breath. Calm. Don’t push. “Are you okay now?” I want to hold him but don’t dare when he’s like this.

He looks away. “I’m fine.”

“John—”

“Fuck it,” he shouts, turning on me with wild eyes. “I’m not fine. I’m fucked up. And there’s not a thing you can do about it.”

I don’t know what to say or do. Horribly, I want to cry, but I can’t. Pride won’t let me. But he sees right through me.

His jaw bunches and he runs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done this.”

He’s glaring a hole through the floorboards and rolling his shoulders like he’s mentally trying to shrug something off. I’m starting to fear that I’m what he wants gone.

“Done what?” I ask, not wanting to hear the answer but needing it.

John lifts his head then. “This.” He waves a hand between us. “Trying for an us.”

Us. Like we’re something toxic and wrong. It hits me with the force of a swung bat.

I clutch my middle, recoiling. “John, don’t …”

He doesn’t listen. “I made a mistake. I should have known better.”

The room becomes a blur as I blink rapidly, hearing him talk through a haze of rejection.

“Do you understand?” he asks, past the buzzing in my ears. “Being with you leaves me wide open. Everything feels like more. I have so much more to lose.”

“You think I don’t understand that?” I rasp. “You think it wasn’t hard for me to let you in? Well, it was. It still is. But I feel more joy too.”

He winces. “I do too. But I can’t handle the pain, the fear. The thought of losing you, the possibility of answering a knock on the door and finding out it’s you who is dead … No.” He blows out a breath, running his hand through his sweaty hair. “I just got to a point where I can cope with day-to-day life. It might not have been all that fun, but I could deal.”

A pulse throbs at the base of my throat and pounds in my temples. My fingers shake when I touch that erratic beat along my neck. Oddly, I half expected to find it slick with blood because John’s words keep slicing me open.

“Don’t do this to us. Don’t push me away.” I wonder if he’s truly listening. He keeps pacing with agitated movement. I know he’s not in the right headspace, but it doesn’t stop the pain. Because, regardless of what he’s feeling, his first instinct is to run from me.

“I cannot chase you,” I say woodenly. God, the pain keeps growing. The hurt. “I’ve chased down people who were supposed to love me all my life. I can’t do that anymore.” A fist of feeling lodges itself behind my breastbone, and I swallow hard. “I shouldn’t have to.”

He stops then and looks at me, looks through me. His expression is set and distant. “That’s my point. You shouldn’t have to deal with this, with me.”

“I don’t know how to make you see how wrong you are,” I whisper.

“Because I’m not wrong.” He presses the tips of his fingers against his eyes and takes a deep breath that lifts his chest. I can only watch as he settles down into his conviction and holds on tight. When he looks at me again, all traces of the man who said he loved me is gone. “It’s better this way. You deserve someone who can take care of you, and I need to be alone.”

Alone. Seems we’re both destined to be.

“So you think it’s safer to cut me loose now?” Anger rises, thrusting my words out. “Then you can just go back to dealing? Is that it?” I won’t cry. No. I won’t cry.

John turns his back to me. “I’m sorry, Stella. In time, you’ll thank me.”

I snort, bitter and so hurt, it’s choking me. But I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say to a man who has made up his mind and can’t see a better way.

I want to fight him, though. Even now, when he’s kicked my feet out from under me and left me bleeding on the inside, I want to fight for him, for us. But I can’t be the only person in the ring. And it doesn’t matter, because he’s already gone.

The door quietly shutting is a lash over my skin. I flinch and sink to my knees as the silence settles in.

Breathe. Just breathe.

But I can’t. My chest has collapsed into my heart. Everything hurts.

Breathe!

My chest hitches, as a sob breaks free. No. I won’t let it go. I won’t cry.

Pressing my fist into my sternum, I rise. It takes work, but I pull in one breath, then another. Slowly, so very slowly, the pain turns into numbness. I can feel it spreading through my body, heavy and solid.

Stevens lets out a plaintive meow, his silky body sliding around my shins. I don’t have the strength to lean down and pet him. Not yet.

The apartment is so silent, my ears ring. I should move, do … something. But what? I don’t know how to begin again. Dully, I look around, trying to find something that might give me a hint on how to start. Every inch of this place is beautiful, perfect. Not a single piece of it is mine. I don’t belong here.

John doesn’t want me.

Another sob bursts to the surface, and I thump hard on my chest. Enough.

But I can’t stop thinking about him. Despite all my pain, there had been agony in his eyes. The fact that I can no longer comfort him kills me. He might not want me, but I can’t turn my love for him off so easily. He is hurting and he needs someone.

My hand shakes as I pour myself a glass of water and gulp it down. Then I pick up my phone and make the call.

When I hear the deep “Hello?” on the other end of the line, I almost hang up. But I grit my teeth and talk.

“Hey, this is Stella. Your pet sitter.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Killian James talks. “Hey, Stella. Is everything all right?”

Tears prickle behind my lids, and I blink them back. “Your pets are fine. This is about John—Jax.”

“Jax? Did something happen?” The strain in his voice is clear. “Is he hurt?”

“No. I’m sorry I scared you.” I clear my throat. “No, I’m calling because I want to talk to you about John.”

I can practically feel him recoiling through the line.

“I’ve heard you two have been hanging out,” he says, slightly strained, and definitely guarded. “I don’t know what you have to say, but I’m not comfortable talking about—”

“And I’m not comfortable calling you,” I cut in. “But that’s just too bad, because this isn’t about your feelings or mine. As far as I can tell, you are the closest thing John has to a brother.”

“I am,” Killian says tightly.

“Then get your ass home and be here for him.”

Killian makes a strangled noise in his throat. “What the fuck is going on?”

“We broke up,” I blurt out, then wince. Because that’s not what I want to say.