“Lance…”
“I love you,” he says. Raw, honest, meaning every word. “You heard me at New Year and I’m saying it again now. We’ll face this together.”
I want to believe him. But Hannah.
Everything crumbles—my heart, my hope, my future. I can’t let him talk me round. I need to end this, no matter how much I don’t want it to.
“You and I…” My voice fractures. “We’ve been incredible. But we both know there’s no future.”
“That’s not true.”
“No buts.” I lean forward and kiss him gently. “This isn’t just about us. It’s about Hannah.”
“Hannah?” he repeats, his entire body going rigid. He didn’t expect that.
Hannah is something we don’t discuss often beyond their plans. She’s always his priority, and we were never long term in my mind. So, for me to create a relationship with his daughter never became a question. Hannah was just there. Untouchable.
“He targets people I care about. That includes you. And her. I won’t let that madman hurt you or Hannah.”
He freezes, his throat bobs, but the argument doesn’t come. The fight drains from him in front of my eyes. His daughter is the one thing he won’t endanger for anyone. She is the reason he’ll walk away when I ask him to. I know it.
“I won’t ask you to risk your daughter.”
“Katie, don’t do this.” He stands there, still holding my hand on his chest. Every breath hard, strained. Weary eyes search the ceiling for another argument to counter mine; they don’t find one.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “But you need to go before you get entangled further in my mess. Don’t argue with me, just go. I won’t change my mind on this. I care about you too much.”
Tears roll down my face as I watch him gather his belongings, stuffing them all into his backpack along with my heart.
“I’m not leaving because I want to. Remember that.”
His eyes burn into mine, memorizing me as if he’ll never see me again.
He won’t. Not if I can help it.
“Go,” I choke out.
He picks up his bag. At the doorway, he turns one last time.
“You’re not Hazel to me,” he says. “You never were.”
And then he’s gone.
Chapter eighteen
Katie
Two months without him, and life has lost its color. After Lance walked away from me, I stood at a crossroads. Stay or go? Knobscratcher has chased me from so many places and people over the years that this time, for the first time, I resolved to stay.
Harold has been a godsend. I explained the situation in the barest possible terms, he took care of the rest. He handled two more visits from the bastard in the week he first appeared, and after being manhandled off the estate, Knobscratcher never returned.
Harold mentioned they’d roughed him up enough to make a point; I didn’t ask for details. According to Amy, she saw him later in January with a cast on his arm. If it only took a few big guys to break some bones, I’d have hired someone years ago. But bullies don’t pick fights they can lose. They pick people they’ve already broken.
The main house has been unusually busy these past weeks. Men came and went, lifting what looked like artwork into vans. I’ve learned not to ask questions; answers at Eden House never lead anywhere comforting. Last week, a woman arrived with Harold. Mid-forties, expensive haircut, clipboard in hand. She spent hours inside the house. I wondered if she was an estate agent. Maybe the Edens are considering selling.
I’ve been keeping to myself. I don’t go into Aviemore—not with the risk of seeing Lance. That would destroy me. I miss him terribly. He got under my skin in all the best and worst ways. Being without him feels like learning how to breathe again with a lung missing. My nights are filled with memories of him, my days filled with his absence.
He came to Eden once, a few weeks after the breakup. Harold met him at the gate and told him I’d returned to London, no forwarding address. I knew he’d come back; Lance isn’t a man who gives up easily. But I couldn’t face him. I wrote him a letter and asked Harold to give it to him when he arrived.