Page 83 of Under Fire

“I have friends to watch over you, like I said. You can stay here as long as you want. Here’s the house key and the security code.” He pushed a few things along the console. “And you have my check to buy a new car.”

“Stay here?” she scoffed, her eyes wide with urgency. “As what? Your house sitter?”

“Alisa.” His eyes darted up to hers for the first time, and she saw that he was in as much pain as her.

She wanted to push off the step, jump after him—but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

“I don’t need your friends. I don’t need your gated community,” she cried. “All I’ve ever needed was you.”

“I warned you that I couldn’t give you more.”

“Couldn’t—or wouldn’t?” she challenged.

He didn’t reply, rotating toward the door. His focused face didn’t quite mask the injury cut into his back.

“You are just going to leave? After that?” She nodded upstairs to his bedroom, where they’d both let themselves sink into each other until the pain didn’t matter.

“I’m committed. I have no choice.”

Alisa grew speechless, unable to process what the fuck was happening. He was really leaving. Her face twisted in hurt, her stomach lurching in ways she couldn’t control.

He fired her one last look, nodded and strode out of the door. She impulsively jumped up after him, sprinting to catch the door before it closed.

“You must have a choice.”

“That’s not how this works.” He didn’t check back.

“You can’t leave,” she cried out after him, tears pouring down her cheeks.

He stopped on the front steps, glancing over his shoulder at her in the doorway.

“You can’t leave, Warren—”

The world fell silent, still even.

She finally exhaled, “because I’m in love with you.”

The way his throat and cheeks flushed, she knew he’d heard her. But he just shook his head and walked away, jumping into his truck. He said nothing else.

She then watched the man drive away. Drive out of her life.

They’d finally fallen apart.

As unceremoniously as we started.

She sank down into his doorway, watching his truck leave her sight, trying to suck in the night air for survival. Tears were an understatement. Ugly crying was more accurate.

She grabbed at her chest, feeling her heart palpitate—some sort of spontaneous supraventricular tachycardia. Or maybe her heart had just shattered. What was the prognosis for that? It was the first time she’d ever felt it.

But, then again, she’d known it was going to happen.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Warren

Jumping out of his truck in the dead of night, Warren tossed his truck keys at one of the guys in the military airfield crew.

“I’ve got some kit in the back that I need to bring,” he said.

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