Page 83 of You've Got The Love
His hand moves over the back of my head, a slow, grounding touch. “Always, babygirl.”
I stay there longer than I should, clinging to him, listening to the steady beat of his heart until the knot in my chest loosens just enough to let in a breath. But it doesn’t ease the ache. It just gives it room to expand.
When I finally turn toward the window, snow is falling in thick, heavy sheets, swallowing the road behind us and erasing every track that could lead me back.
In my mind, Bas is still there in the cabin—standing at the window, one hand braced against the frame, watching the space where I should be. I can see him as clearly as if he were right here, the weight of his gaze pressing between my shoulder blades even now.
I press my forehead to the glass, the cold biting into my skin. My eyes slip shut, but it doesn’t help. I can still feel the thud of his heart under my palm, still hear the crack in his voice when he told me he was too broken to give me everything. Still feel the moment something inside me gave way under the truth of it.
And it hurts in a way I know won’t fade when the snow does.
Bastiaan
The door shuts behind them, and the cabin exhales into silence. Only the fire remains, its crackle faint and dying, the embers sinking low like they’ve given up.
I stay standing for a moment, staring at the empty space where she was, then my knees give out. I sink to the floor in the exact spot she stood, my palms pressing to the worn boards as if I could still catch some trace of her warmth.
My chest is hollow, scraped clean, like something vital has been scooped out and carried away. My arms feel useless without her weight in them. Her scent still hangs in the air—soft, warm, achingly familiar—and it cuts through me like glass.
She’s gone. And it’s my doing.
I could have fought. Could have made her stay. But I didn’t. I had to let her go, because keeping her would have meant holding her in a world I can’t keep her heart safe, with a man too broken to give her everything she deserves.
Now what’s left in me feels like ash—cold, drifting, weightless. The only thing heavier is knowing I put it there myself.
Chapter 44
Bastiaan
The silence in the cabin is deafening. The door clicks shut behind them, but it feels like it closed on my entire world. Amber is gone, and the ache in my chest is raw, relentless.
I drop to the floor where she stood moments ago, my back against the cold wall. The fire’s last embers cast thin, flickering shadows that only mock the heaviness inside me. Her scent still clings to the hoodie she left behind—clean soap, jasmine. It’s cruel how something so comforting now twists into a reminder of what I just lost.
My hands shake as I press the hoodie to my face. I want to scream, to tear the world apart and call her back. But all I can do is sit here, a broken man drowning in grief and guilt.
Jack was right. I wasn’t enough. Not for her. Not to keep her safe, physically and emotionally.
I rake my hands through my hair and groan, trying to shake last night from my mind. But thehardest part wasn’t the exchange—it was telling her I couldn’t do it anymore. That I couldn’t fight for us.
I don’t know how she swallowed her heartbreak without shouting at me. Without demanding that I try harder. She just packed her things quietly, walked out with her dad, and didn’t look back.
I wonder if she hates me. If she’ll ever forgive me.
The truth is worse than I want to admit: I wasn’t protecting her. I was pushing her away. And now she’s gone because she thinks I don’t want to fight for her. For us.
And she’d be right. Not because I don’t want her—God knows I do—but because I’m too broken to believe I can be the man she deserves.
I’ve spent years guarding what’s left of my heart, terrified of the pain love brings. I never stopped to think what that fear would do tohers.
Hours pass. The cabin sinks deeper into quiet, the weight of the night pressing down until breathing feels like work.
My phone vibrates—a message from Amber.
Amber: I want to fight.
The words stab deep. I want her more than anything. But fear claws at me—fear that loving her means risking everything again.
The life I imagined with her feels like a distant dream now.
