Page 49 of Fat Betrayed Mate
"No." I hold up a hand to stop him. "I can't do this, Thomas. I can't open myself up to you again just to watch you walk away when things get complicated."
His face contorts with something that looks like pain. "I won't walk away."
"You say that now."
"I mean it."
"So did you six years ago." The old hurt rises in my throat, bitter and familiar. "And yet here we are."
Thomas stands, moving toward me despite my defensive posture. "Six years ago, I was young and stupid and terrified of making the wrong choice. I'm not that man anymore."
"Then you’re not the man I fell in love with,” I snarl. “Then we have nothing to talk about."
He stares at me for a long moment, conflict warring in his expression—a flash of heartbreak, a terrible grief, a resignation that makes me burn. Finally, he nods curtly.
"The security protocols are in effect until further notice," he says, his voice deliberately professional. "Keep your radio on. Report any unusual activity."
"Understood."
He moves toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the knob. "Fiona?"
"What?"
"Whatever you're planning—running, hiding, disappearing in the middle of the night—it won't work this time. The danger is too close, too organized. You'll need help."
I hate how transparent I am to him, that he knows I’ve been thinking about it. "I've been taking care of myself and my daughter just fine without help."
He turns to face me, his expression grave. "I hope that’s true, Fiona.”
The words hit me hard. I have been running, from my father, from my past, from the feelings I can't afford to have forthe man standing in my doorway. I know that well. I hate the idea that he might know it, too.
"Me too," I admit quietly. "But at least we're still alive."
"That's not the same as living."
After he leaves, I check on Maisie again—still sleeping, though her temperature has spiked higher. I give her a dose of the suppressants Dr. Knowles prescribed, knowing they're barely holding back the inevitable anymore.
Then, I begin to pack.
It's a practiced routine, refined through years of necessity. Essential documents first, then clothes for both of us, medical supplies, cash hidden in various locations throughout the house. Everything fits into two backpacks and a duffel bag—our entire life reduced to what we can carry.
I'm folding Maisie's favorite sweater when I find the note.
It's tucked between the folded clothes in her dresser, written on expensive stationary in my father's distinctive handwriting. Four words that make my blood turn to ice:
I know you're here.
Chapter 12 - Thomas
I can't shake the image of Fiona's face when I left her cottage—the fear she was trying so hard to hide, the way her hands trembled when she thought I wasn't looking. Something has her terrified. I have a strong inkling I know what it is—or, at least, part of it. She must know Edward is lurking near, surely. Or, God forbid, it’s something worse.
Maybe,a voice says in the back of my mind, tormentous,it’s you she’s afraid of.
I shove it down, scream it into silence.
But none of it changes the fact that I'm walking away from her. Again.
The irony burns in my chest as I make my way through Silvercreek's darkened streets. Six years ago, I pushed her away to protect her. Now she's pushing me away, and every instinct I have screams that she's about to run.
