Page 147 of The Vagabond

I was yanked onto another assignment before the dust even settled — a new mission, a new target, but her absence followed me. Every damn day, every sleepless night, she was there.

In the back of my mind, in the pit of my stomach, in the ache that never eased.

And then, by pure, goddamn chance, I saw her again. Standing in a prison waiting room, waiting to visit her uncle — Mason Ironside.

I swear, the sight of her nearly brought me to my knees. Sheturned, her eyes locking on mine, and for a split second, the world just…stopped.

Her face drained of color, her body swaying like she might faint on the spot. And me? I nearly collapsed, right then and there — because she was alive. She was alive. Alive, breathing, standing, still carrying fire in her veins, still the woman I’d been chasing through every nightmare and mission since the day I left her.

But when she looked at me…she looked at me like she wanted to drive a stake straight through my heart. And maybe I deserved it. Hell, I probably did. But God, seeing her — just seeing her — was the closest I’d come to feeling human in months.

The therapist is quiet. She lets the silence hang like a noose between us, waiting to see if I’ll tighten it myself. And I do. Because I can’t help it. Because every time I close my eyes, it’s not just her face I see — it’s thelookshe gave me.

That gut-wrenching flash of recognition. That raw, carved-out betrayal. Like she’d rather watch me burn alive than breathe the same air.

I scrub my hands over my face, rough, biting into my own skin.

“I should’ve torn the fucking world apart for her,” I rasp, voice shaking. “Instead, I followed orders. I left her in the hands of monsters, and then I pretended I was doing my job. Pretended I could live with my betrayal.”

My chest feels tight, too tight. My lungs burn like they’re folding in on themselves.

I drop my head forward, hands trembling between my knees.

“She was just a name on a file at first. She wasn’t supposed to mean anything. But this is Maxine we’re talking about; her presence is louder than any words, any warning, louder even than every rule I swore I’d follow. She walked into my life, andsuddenly, everything I thought I could control started unraveling at the seams.”

The therapist’s voice is soft, steady.

“You love her.”

I let out a sharp, hollow laugh.

“Love doesn’t even scratch the surface.”

I lift my head slowly, eyes raw, throat scraped bloody with the words I’m choking on.

“I see her in every quiet moment. I hear her in the silence. I carry the weight of what I didn’t do —what Ishouldhave done —every goddamn day.”

I pause, jaw clenched so tight it aches.

“And the worst part? The worst part is knowing that even if she forgives me… I don’t know that I can forgive myself.”

The therapist leans forward just a little.

“What is it you want, Saxon?”

I suck in a breath that feels like glass.

“I want to be the man that deserves her. One who earns the right to stand beside her. I want to be better than the monster who left her in Albania instead of pulling her into the light.”

My fists tighten, nails biting into my skin.

“I don’t want to be her savior. I want to be her safe place; the man who never lets her down again.” My voice cracks, low and raw: “She’s the reason I haven’t put a bullet in my own head. I’m still breathing because of her. And I am so goddamn terrified…that I will never be enough to make up for what I took from her.”

For a moment, the room is quiet. The clock keeps ticking. The therapist doesn’t speak right away. She lets the words hang there, raw and jagged, between us. Then, gently — so gently it almost makes me flinch — she asks a question I’m not sure even I know the answer to.

“Saxon… why are you telling me this?”

I blink, throat tightening. “Because it’s what you’re paid to hear.”

---