He exhaled a shaky breath. "I don't want to!" he cried. "But you've been with me the past few weeks, you know what it's like! I can't control myself. Damn it, I'm even seeing things that aren't there! I'm sick. And if you get hurt . . ." He trailed off with a wince. As if of all the things that had ever hurt him, that would be the worst.

I gripped his arm as anger suddenly flared in my chest. This was all Darrel's fault. I couldn't let the pain he'd caused drive us apart—I just couldn't. "I don't care if you hurt me," I said with heat in my voice.

He rubbed his forehead. "How can you say that? After all I've put you through?" His mouth drew down into a grimace that frightened me with its determination. "No, Riley. This has to end."

My heart wrenched, and I shook my head stubbornly. "I'll do whatever you need. You know that." My lip trembled. "Just don't push me away."

"You can't help me with this," he said, his voice rising in frustration. "Even the doctor thinks so."

"What?" I cried, my voice sharp. "What does he know?"

He scowled, as if he were angry at what he had just said. "Forget it."

My grip tightened on his arm. "No, Jax. I want to know. What does the doctor say?"

His scowl deepened. "My PTSD. He thinks since you were there that night, that seeing you triggers all my symptoms. He already had me get rid of my bike. And now . . ." He hung his head.

The full weight of his words hit me like a punch in the stomach. "God, no. He wants you to get rid of me?"

He didn't look at me. "Yes. And I'm starting to agree."

His words shook me to my core, sending a deep hurt pulsating through my entire being. I was the one causing him pain? All this time? A shudder wracked my body. "No," I managed to get out. "No matter what the doctor says, I can't believe that you want this."

He brought his head up, giving me a piercing look that told me everything about the agony every hurtful word was costing him. "It's killing me," he said, his voice rasping.

"Then there has to be another way," I cried.

The desperation that sprung in his eyes made me shiver. "But don't you see?" he said, his voice dropping lower, "I don't care if you're triggering all this shit. I would live with PTSD forever if I could just have you. But you're going to get hurt. And if there's one thing I can control about this shitty situation, then I'm going to do it. I'm going to make sure you're safe."

My throat choked as tears streamed down my face. He had it backwards—the only place I'd ever felt safe was with him. "This isn't right. You know it isn't. I love you."

He pressed his hands to his forehead, as if those three words had cut him deeper than any wound he'd ever revealed to me in our time together. "Riley, don't. You're making this harder than it has to be. Please."

I shook my head as a sob caught in my throat. "I won't give up on us. Not now. Not ever. You mean everything to me."

Closing his eyes for a moment, he pressed his lips together. His shoulders shook as he took a deep, shuddering breath. Then he sat up straight, opening his eyes and giving me a look that almost broke me with the intensity of his anguish—for what we had together, and for what we were about to lose.

"You mean everything to me too," he said, reaching out to stroke my cheek. His touch electrified me, as it always did, even through my sadness. None of it made any sense. How could he let go of what we had together?

I brought my own hand up to his, and pressed it to my cheek, holding him there. Keeping him with me.

His tortured eyes looked deep into mine, piercing my soul. "But don't you see—" He bit off his words, his brows drawing together as frustration struggled across his face.

I looked at him, my eyes filled with mute appeal. My hand clasped tighter on the warmth of his. Please, Jax. Don't do this.

Suddenly, Jax tore his hand away like I'd burned him, a scowl forming on his face. I couldn't tell if he was angry at me, or at himself, but another stab of hurt rocked my body nevertheless.

With an abrupt movement, he stood up. "Fuck. I have to get out of here. I can't do this right now."

I leaned towards him, every fiber of my being aching with the need to be near him. "Stay, Jax. Please."

He clenched his hands, frustration still hanging over his dark brows. "No. I've . . . I've got to go find the band. You should rest. If you need me later, I'll be sleeping on the deck tonight."

"I want to talk about this more," I said, my voice trembling.

"I'm sorry, Riley. But I can't." He turned and walked away from me. Each step he took was like a spike through my heart.

At the door though, he paused. "See you in the morning," he said. His voice was so soft I almost didn't hear him.

Then, with one last anguished look at me, he left the bus. I sank back down on the couch, overwhelmed and heartsick.

Is this really how it ends? I didn't want to believe it, I couldn't believe it. But what if I really was bad for Jax? I'd been afraid of this before, because I was the one whose insecurities had led us into our run in with Darrel in the first place. And now Darrel—and the pain he'd caused—was tearing us apart.

My heart pounded painfully in my chest. Was it too late for us? It seemed like I was making everything worse for Jax, when all I ever wanted was to make things better. But even so, I didn't want to lie down without a fight. If I did, then Darrel would win—and that was an injustice that neither Jax or I should have to live with.

No matter what he said, I still felt like he wanted to be with me. Even if he'd never told me he loved me, I saw in his eyes how much he cared for me, every time he turned his dark gaze to mine. I could feel it in his tenderness every time we touched.

And I wanted to be with him. Mind, body, and soul. I couldn't give up on us, not now. We had come too far, fought too hard for what we shared—a trust, a desire, a comfort like no other.

In a daze, I went up to the Fortress of Solitude and sat down on the bed, my mind a jumble. If we could work together, and believe in our trust for each other, we might still have a chance.

Chapter Eighteen

BURNOUT

I woke up alone in Jax's bed. For a brief second, everything seemed fine. Then I remembered, and the realization that Jax and I were on the rocks hit me like a ton of bricks. Being awake physically hurt.

I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes, remembering my resolution from last night. I couldn't let us be defeated, not yet. There had to be some way I could help Jax with his PTSD. Even if I was his trigger. The first thing I could do to help him—and us—was to make sure he knew how deeply I was committed to him, no matter what.

I got out of bed and changed into jeans and a t-shirt before checking my phone. It was nine in the morning. People were surely up by now.

But when I went out in the living room, it was empty. I checked every room. Same deal. Somewhat surprised, I decided to head out of the bus and go to the performers area of the festival. It was kind of strange for the entire band to leave the bus so early in the morning, but if they were anywhere then the performers area was probably the place.