Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I turn away. “I don’t have to believe it. I know it.”
“Grizz,” she says, stepping into my space now. “Look at me.”
I don’t.
“You’re scared,” she says. “That doesn’t make this doomed.”
“It does when fear turns into damage,” I snap back. “When it turns into rage. When it turns into saying things you can’t take back.”
She goes still. “You’re talking about yourself like you’re already lost.”
I swallow. “I am.”
Silence crashes down between us.
She searches my face, her voice softer now. “What are you saying?”
I finally look at her.
“I’m saying this ends here. Before it costs you more than you could imagine.”
Her eyes widen. “You don’t mean that.”
I do.
And that’s when it hits me—harder than any hit I’ve taken all season. I look away—at the wall, the floor, anywhere but her—because if I look at her when I say this, I won’t survive it.
“The truth,” I say. “The thing I’ve been running from my entire life.” I battle to put my greatest fear into words finally. “I’m going to become my father.”
The confession drops.
Her smile vanishes. Color drains from her face. “Grizz… no.”
“It’s inevitable,” I say, the conviction in my voice horrifying even to me. “It’s not a question of if. It’s when.”
She shakes her head, already fighting it. “You don’t believe that.”
“I do,” I insist. “Because I see it now. The rage and unhinged volatility. The way I lash out when I feel cornered. The way I hurt people when I don’t know how to sit with my own pain.”
She takes another step toward me. “That doesn’t make you him.”
“It means I’m becoming him,” I say, bitter. “I’ve spent my whole life telling myself I was different. And maybe I am—in the details. But the core?” I tap my chest. “It’s the same.”
She looks stunned. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying no matter what I do, I leave damage behind me,” I say. “And the closer someone gets, the worse it is.”
Her voice trembles. “What does that mean for us?”
I close my eyes for half a second, bracing myself.
“It means,” I say, broken and absolute, “you need to get away from me, Daisy.”
Her breath stutters.
“I’m destructive,” I go on, because once I start, I can’t stop. “I destroy people who love me. It’s in my blood. The men in my family don’t build things—we burn them down. Wives. Children. Entire families. Anyone who stays too long.”
She stares at me like I’ve just rewritten reality.
“I won’t do that to you,” I say hoarsely. “I won’t let you be another casualty.”
A look flashes across her face—and it isn’t pity or sadness, or even denial.
It’s fury.
“No,” she says, voice low and shaking. “I don’t accept that.”
“Daisy—”
“No,” she repeats, louder now. “I don’t buy this fatalistic bullshit for one second.”
I flinch.
“You don’t get to call fear destiny,” she snaps. “You don’t get to dress cowardice up as inevitability and pretend it’s noble.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“No,” she fires back. “You’re trying to run. You’re terrified,” she says, eyes blazing now. “Terrified of commitment. Terrified of love. Terrified of the fact that this actually matters.”
I shake my head. “You don’t understand—”
“I do understand,” she interrupts, voice breaking but unyielding. “I understand exactly what you’re doing. You’re quitting before you fail so you can tell yourself you chose this.”
“I’m protecting you,” I interject, because she’s not getting it.
“Bullshit.” She steps closer, tears finally spilling but her spine rigid. “You think I’m not scared? I’m terrified. Loving you scares the hell out of me. Building something real scares me. But I’m still here.”
I can’t breathe.
“I’m ready,” she says. “I’m choosing you. And you’re standing there telling me I don’t get a choice because you’ve decided the ending already.”
I feel like I’m drowning. Her words are rattling the walls.
“You need to get away from me,” I say again, quieter now. Hollow. Final.
“No,” she says, desperation in her tone. “I refuse to believe you—”
“YOU NEED TO GET THE FUCK OUT!” I bellow at her, finger pointed toward my door. I swallow down my frustration and lower my voice. “It’s over and you need to go.”
I hold my breath, waiting for her to come at me again with all the reasons we’ll work. With all the reasons I could be happy with her if I just took the risk. I brace, ready to fight, but instead she nods once.
“Okay,” she says, her voice devoid of emotion, and for some reason, that single word devastates me more than any scream could have.
She steps back, pulling her coat around herself like armor. “If that’s your choice,” she says evenly, “then this is where it ends.”
I open my mouth, my gut telling me not to let her go. But the logical part of my brain wins and nothing comes out.
Daisy moves toward the door, pauses with her hand on the handle. “Goodbye, Grizz.”
The door opens, then closes, and the sound echoes through the apartment.