Page 81 of Call It What You Want
I shake my head. “It’s?—”
“Ava,” he interrupts, his voice cracking. “Listen to me.I love you.I’ve always loved you. I can’t let you go again.”
My chest caves in.I’ve always loved you.Those words break something in me, and, my God, I wish I could believe him. But right now I’m questioning everything. Where do the lies stop and the truth begin? How can I possibly know what’s real?
“If that’s true, then you love a version of me that doesn’t exist,” I say. “I honestly don’t even know who I am, so how could you?”
“I know you, Ava. Better than anyone.” He takes a step closer, and every fiber of my being urges me to run, to stay, to give in. My body is drawn to him even while my mind screams for distance.
I don’t move, I can’t.
“Tell me what you need,” he pleads, his voice breaking, reaching for me like a drowning man. “Name it and it’s yours.”
“I need space. Time.” I force myself to look at him through the blur of tears. “I need to figure out who I am without you deciding for me. And you need to let me go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Jackson
I can’t fucking let her go. Not after clawing my way back to her, after three years of suffocating without her. Not now that I can finally breathe again. Maybe that makes me selfish, but I’ve never pretended to be anything else. Selfishness is the only honest thing about me.
“I can’t let you leave,” I say, my voice heavy, but firm.
“Jackson—” She shakes her head, then turns and heads for the door.
I’m right behind her, and before she can leave, my hand shoots out, fingers locking around her wrist. “Ava, Wait?—”
She looks up at me, tears filling her eyes. “Let go of me.”
“Just—” I tighten my grip, not enough to bruise, but enough to remind her that I can. That Ialwayscan. “Give me a minute to explain?—”
“Explainwhat?” she snaps, jerking against me. “That you’re keeping me here for my own good? That you know what’s best for me?”
“Someone wants you dead, Ava,” I remind her, tightening my grip. “I’m not letting you walk out of Rush House unprotected.”
“There it is,” she says. “You’re using protection as an excuse to control me.Again.”
“That’s not—” But I pause, the words catching in my throat.
Fuck,maybe she’s right.
I’ve spent three years convincing myself that every lie, every manipulation, every choice I made for her was about keeping her safe. But standing here now, feeling the way her pulse hammers beneath my fingers, I’m suddenly unsure. And I’mneverfucking unsure.
“You can’t keep me here against my will and call it love,” she says quietly. “That’s not how this works.”
I release her.
The absence of contact feels like losing a limb, like phantom pain where something vital used to be. I itch to grab her again. Every instinct in me screams to lock the door, drag her back to my bed, and make her understand that leaving me means death for us both. That the only good thing in this fucked up world is us.
But I can’t.
Because she’s right.
I’ve been so fucking focused on protecting her that I never stopped to ask what she wanted. I took her choice away the moment I dragged her into that van. Every decision since has been mine—the ceremony, the marriage, keeping her here. I convinced myself it was all necessary. That I knew better.
That she’d love me again eventually.
Still, when it comes down to it, there’s one truth he can’t ignore, no matter how hard I try. “I can’t let you leave,” I repeat. “Not when someone out there?—”
