"Baby, you were the love of my life
Woah, maybe you don't know it's lost 'til you find it
It's not what I wanted, to leave you behind
Don't know where you'll land when you fly
But, baby, you were the love of my life"

- Harry Styles, "Love of My Life"

Chapter Forty-Three

I'm free to go.

I sat. I didn't move.

I was free to go.

I reviewed the facts. The shooter was in custody. Greystone was conducting an internal investigation. Cruz would help the investigation at the AG's office. The immediate threat to me was gone. I didn't need to be protected anymore.

I was free to go.

A million thoughts slammed into every particle of my being.

Reed. D.C. Rolo. Moving. Baro's team. Reed. Kennedy. Wedding. Oliver. D.C. I could go home. Where was my home? Rolo. Reed.

And then I was looking at Reed. Reed, whose beautiful green eyes were pointedly looking up. Reed, who it was time to say goodbye to. Reed, who I never got the courage to ask for.

More facts. I'd get my phone and my laptop back. I'd get my car. I'd happily get my dog. Soon, I'd head to D.C., and I'd try to salvage my job and career.

Soon, I'd say goodbye.

Suddenly, it didn't feel like I was a lioness anymore. Suddenly, my brain wasn't able to form complete thoughts. Suddenly, I felt numb.

Reed's chest rapidly swelled and deflated, and those radiant green hues finally fell and met mine. And I saw a million glints of a million thoughts in those eyes, too. But then he blinked, his lashes gracing his cheeks for just a moment too long before his gaze finally greeted mine again. And I wanted to cry—but I couldn't find the tears.

There was only the bitter taste of an imminent goodbye on my tongue.

"Let's get your stuff, Avery," he muttered.

He stood, helped me up, and led me out of the room. I didn't say goodbye to Cruz or Quentin. The police would contact me if they wanted to follow up, and I'd eventually reach out to Cruz. I would need closure for that side of things, but there was another type of closure I was more focused on right then.

A type of closure I didn't want.

Reed and I were silent as he led me to a room of boxes. He handed me my phone, laptop, and watch. Maybe Simon had brought it all back with him from the safehouse.

It was quiet as Reed led me downstairs. As he led me to his car, and pulled my bags out. As I pulled my car keys out of my bag, and he led me to a lot behind Greystone. He walked me to the little white car I called mine. The one I would get in, the one that would carry me away from him. It was quiet as he put my bags in the trunk and turned to me.

I hadn't said goodbye to anybody. Not to Beck or Simon. Not to Gabby or Julian. But this one, the one I dreaded most of all, I couldn't escape. I couldn't escape Reed's goodbye.

Both of us stared, blank-faced. Both of us had no idea what to say or what to do. We'd both known how it'd end—we always had. But maybe neither of us had expected it to be soon, so sudden, so absolutely soul-crushing.

"Where are you going to go?"

I didn't need to think about it.

"Kennedy's. It's time to get my dog. If she'll let me, I'll stay the night." I avoided looking at him, gazing over my car. "Then I'll call Baros. Figure out my next steps."

"Call me when you get there? Or just... let me know?" When I did look, I caught the soft bob of his throat. I saw how he avoided my eyes just like I did his. I saw his hands that didn't seem to know what to do; I saw as he leaned forward, like he wanted to step closer but his feet were glued to the heated pavement.

"I will. Will you let me know who it was?" I asked. "At Greystone, I mean. Cruz will tell me who it was at the AG office. And I'll follow Warren and Richard's case, but I want to know who it was here. Final piece of the puzzle and all that."

He met my gaze then. He nodded. "Of course."

A beat.

"I—"

"Are you—"

We both paused as our words clashed, gazing sheepishly at the other. I gestured for him to go first, but he shook his head and looked away again.

I wish we were both ready for this. For saying goodbye. For saying what we wanted—no, what we needed to say. I wish I was ready for you, Reed Sterling. I wish I was able to stay. I wish I was able to love you the way you deserve to be loved.

That was what I wanted to say.

I wanted to tell him he made me question every idea I'd ever had about love. That every doubt I'd ever had about whether I could love someone was eradicated by his very presence. By his hands on mine. By that damned green. By his soul that called to mine, like a sailor's soft warble under the moon. By his lips that I wanted with every fiber of my being to press against mine.

Because maybe it was love. I could say with certainty I'd never felt anything like it before. I'd never felt so entirely fascinated by, consumed by, or saddened by someone like this in all the days I'd called mine here on Earth. I had never felt such an ache down to my cells, never felt the strings of my purpose and future so unraveled before, never wanted to say 'yes' to something so much before. Was this love? Did I even need to ask?

No. It's just something you know.

But I did need to say something. There was a lot I needed to say, actually, but at the very least I could say thank you. So, I summoned my courage and forced out words that could never be enough.

"Thank you, Reed. For everything. For saving me that night, for coming after me, the safehouse. The puzzle, the coffees." I smiled weakly at him. "For helping me and not hating me when I got hurt, and when I put everything at risk. For helping me every day after. For saving me again and again. I know this isn't enough, but... thank you."

Was this what true pain was? Was this what agony felt like? Was this why the poets cried and the artists sighed?

Was this why art, music, and time were obsessed with love? Because it was something so unreachable, so truly unfathomable, until it was felt? Until it consumed your being, and lit matches under even the chemical bonds that kept you together? Until you came to that conclusion of misery? That joyful, brilliant, illuminating misery that was love?

I had decided at the rest stop I didn't care about the ending. I'd chosen, but I'd never gotten the chance to follow through. I'd fought the cost for so long, and when I'd finally accepted it, welcomed having to pay as long as I could feel what came after—it was too late.

And I was still paying the cost anyway.

I loved him. And I lost him. And I was saying goodbye. I could only hope time healed all wounds, because this was not survivable. This was not feasible to suffer long-term with. This couldn't be my fate. Surely, destiny was not so cruel as this; surely, even the chaotic universe wouldn't inflict pain like this. The pain of knowing there was an end to time spent with a loved one.

The pain of knowing that end was now.

"You never have to thank me." His hoarse voice dug into the heart that bled in my chest. His eyes, so serious and so shielded, overflowed with pain. No walls could be built high enough to contain this misery.

And I knew I was wrong. I'd doubted if this was mutual—but that look in his eyes was reflected in mine. And that pain that radiated in green waves was a unique pain, recognized only by those who knew it. And, god, did I know it. Did I feel it. How foolish I'd been to think I was the only one feeling this. How foolish I'd been to torture myself with distance. To fight it for fear of this moment. To battle and still lose anyways. This was inevitable. He was inevitable. Something this strong was never something I could fight off.

"Can you do one more thing for me?"

He hesitated, searching my eyes, but he nodded. I reached into my pocket and pulled out what I'd grabbed from my bag. I stepped closer, feeling it dig into my clenched fist. I stepped closer, less than a step away. And his eyes were sad as they watched me. And the air in my lungs burned, turning more into acid than oxygen.

I reached for his hand and pulled it up to my heart; he let me hold it with both of mine. His eyes were on our clasped hands while I searched his face, memorizing every little detail I could.

I will never get to count the freckles that brush your cheeks and nose. I'd hoped one day you would let me—but it was me all along. I never let myself.

"Thank you, Reed," I whispered. And I stepped away and let his hand go. It stayed in the air, and his fist tightened just like mine had.

And I got in the car. And I clicked my seatbelt. And I shakily started the engine. And I pulled away.

Just once, I looked in my rearview mirror. Saw his frozen figure. Saw his eyes raise from his hand, to the receding license plate, then to the mirror to meet mine. Until he was gone. Until I was gone.

Albatross takes flight. Away from Argentum—but never Sterling. It was always Reed. It was always him.

It was always him.