In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter Forty-Four: I Would Burn for the Quiet (Reed's POV)

"And I could have loved you,
But you had the hunger
For a life in the lights, so when they called your number
I couldn't compete with the spell you were under"

- Jeremy Jordan, "I Heard Your Voice In A Dream"

Chapter Forty-Four — Reed's POV

Before she left, she'd asked me if I could do one more thing for her. It'd taken me a second to answer, because I hadn't understood—hadn't she known? Hadn't it been obvious?

Didn't she know there was nothing I wouldn't do for her? Did she not understand I'd never say no to whatever she asked, or that it'd tear me apart to choose anything other than her?

And yet, that was exactly what I was doing. I was choosing her—by not choosing her. I was putting her first, as much as it killed me, and choosing the easy alternative instead of what I wanted. What I wanted more than anything. I hated the decision I was making. I hated I was choosing to let her go, but I reminded myself I was doing it for her; any other decision would be selfish. Unforgivable, even.

I couldn't be selfish. Not with her.

It'd crossed my mind several times to try to find a solution, to even think about long-distance. To ask her if she'd be willing to start something I hoped to never finish, even if thousands of miles away. But I didn't. It wouldn't work. We both had careers that didn't have room for something like that.

Something like us.

And how could I distract her? How could I ask her to choose anything that wasn't herself, or her own dreams? Because that was what she had; she had a dream. She had a purpose. It'd been destabilized, but it was still there. She'd unfairly been put through something horrible; it'd jeopardized everything she'd ever worked for, but she was finally able to get back on track. I wouldn't interrupt that.

I can't. I won't.

So, I stood in that lot. The space where her car once sat was empty. The box where her things were once kept was empty. I was empty.

Smooth cardboard edges dug into my fist where it hung in the air in front of me. The sun blazed down as I slowly unclenched my fingers, flattening my palm to look at her final gift. What she'd given me was colorful... and painfully familiar.

It was a puzzle piece. The last piece. The one she'd never got to put in; the final step of the puzzle I'd bought her. The same puzzle we'd sat and worked on together during our time at the safehouse. I remembered how she'd smiled to herself when she'd finished each section; how she'd looked at me, confused why I was doing it with her, but seeming happy I was. How even then I'd done everything I could to make her happy.

And to think—she'd thought I only wanted her to be happy because she was a client.

It'd been so frustrating, so devastating. I couldn't fight the box she put me in; I couldn't fight her decision she was a burden. I couldn't seem to shake her from her certainty that she was nothing more than a job, and that I wasn't capable of caring for her in another way.

Why'd she have to be so goddamn stubborn?

At first, she was right. She'd only been a client. I'd shoved her away and built my walls even higher because she was a risk. To Greystone, herself, the case. She'd been a risk to me. My job was to alleviate risk when I could.

Somehow, she'd still wiggled in. With all of her stubbornness and unrelenting determination, she'd gotten in. Though it'd been a risk neither of us could afford, she'd busted down my walls with stories about Rolo, her need for caffeine that was as unhealthy as mine, and her brilliance.