A new beginning.
A new life.
A new me.
All of it mine. All of it made by my hand, my decisions, my work.
Or it would be.
I was terrified.
And I couldn’t wait.
But after we climbed the stairs, Derrik opened the door and handed me the key, I knew I’d miss the guys.
Badly.
I pulled in a very deep breath and got control as I let it go.
Then I looked up at him.
“Thank you again for everything, honey,” I whispered.
“Maddie, I’ll see you again in a few hours,” he replied, not whispering.
He wouldn’t.
I was going to take a bath, eat, drink wine, speak with Apollo (who Derrik was off to announce our arrival to and bring back to the inn for our chat).
Then I was going to leave.
I didn’t say that. Maybe because of that time my father said it to me with such finality when I announced I was going to marry Pol. He was telling me I couldn’t because Pol was a criminal. I was telling him I was twenty-three and I could do what I wanted. Then I’d never seen Dad again, except for when I was forced to go back and he’d shut the door in my face (twice), but I didn’t figure those counted.
Yeah, maybe this was why I hated good-byes.
So I didn’t intend to say them.
I was just going to go.
I’d write them letters later (maybe).
“I’ll see you his evening,” Derrik murmured and moved to leave.
But I called his name and he turned back.
“Thank you,” I repeated.
“Maddie—”
I shook my head, lifted my hand and felt so much emotion I couldn’t speak in a normal voice. Therefore, what I had to say came out trembling and low.
But I forced it to come out.
“You know about him,” I stated and Derrik’s jaw went hard.
Over the months, the dinners, the long rides, the sitting in pubs or on the grass or out under the stars and talking, I’d told him. At first a little. Then a lot. He and Achilles, both of them, I’d told all about Pol.
He knew.