so hard that her whole body caves in on itself. I’ve never seen anything like this, not even when I’ve delivered terminal diagnoses. It’s like her heart is breaking right before my eyes.
Holding her tight against my chest, I reach up and stroke her hair. I want to ask more, to wrap my brain around how she could possibly blame herself for whatever claimed the life of a child. But interrogating her now would just fan the embers of guilt, and I’m not that cruel.
So I just hold her. I’m not sure how long we stand like that. Ten minutes? Ten hours? When Izzy draws back, her eyes are red and raw. She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but right now, she’s a hollow shell of herself.
“I need a tissue.” She takes a step back, putting distance between us. “I need to wash my face and maybe you should—maybe you should go.”
“Izzy, no.” I start toward her, then stop. “I’m not leaving you like this.”
“You need to.” She bites her lip. “The more time we spend together, the harder it’s going to be to say goodbye in a few days.”
Harder for her or for me? I’m not sure which she means, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. I cast a glance around the room, gaze landing on Kevin snoring in his jaunty bowtie.
“Maybe we should slow down and talk things through.” I’m fighting for more time, but what else can I do? “If we just stop and talk about—”
“You’ve been so good to me.” Her voice is choked and high. “So kind and caring and wonderful. You brought me dinner and a pig, and I’m sending you away like some ungrateful—”
“Iz, no.” I shake my head, struggling to understand how we got this far off track. “You don’t owe me anything. What we have together, it’s not some quid pro quo. I don’t do things for you so you’ll be indebted to me. I do them because I love you.”
There, I’ve said it again. If she feels the same, this is her chance to say it.
But she bites her lip instead. “I’m so sorry, Bradley. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”
The words land like sharp blows to my sternum. I take a deep breath, ignoring all the things I want to say.
Please stay.
Please fight for us.
Please give us a chance.
But if she did that now, she’d be doing it for the wrong reasons. She’d be sticking around out of guilt and obligation, not love.
And that’s not how I want this to go.
I take a shaky breath. “So that’s it.”
I watch her hesitate, and for an instant, hope blooms bright and feathery in my chest.
“That’s it.” She holds my gaze, and those words are like a hammer slamming one last nail into the coffin. “I’m sorry.”
So there’s nothing left to say. “All right.” I swallow back my own bitterness. “If that’s what you want.”
“It’s not what I want. But it’s what I need to do.”
“I don’t buy that.” It’s an asshole thing to say. I’ve never been in her shoes, and I can’t pretend to understand what she’s facing.
“My family needs me,” she says. “Surely, you understand that.”
I do. I hate that I do, and I don’t think it’s the same thing at all. But I find myself nodding anyway. “Yeah. All right.”
She bites her lip “If you want, we could still go to the wedding together. I owe you that much, to be your date.”
“Stop saying you owe me something.” I take a deep breath against the anger building inside me. “I don’t want to be with someone who’s with me out of obligation.”
“I understand,” she says. “I truly do.”
I’m not sure she does, but there’s no point belaboring it. She’s made her decision.
But I’m not one to walk away without saying my piece. “Let me be clear.” I brace a hand on the counter, locking my eyes with hers. “I love you, Izzy. I want you to stay in Oregon. I want you to choose to be with me because it’s what you want for you and not out of guilt or obligation or some sense of what’s expected of you. If you’re not prepared to do that—”
I break off because part of me’s still hoping she’ll put a stop to this. That she’ll change her mind, see reason, decide her own happiness matters just as much as her family’s.
Instead, she shakes her head. “I wish I could,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
“I’m