“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t say it.”

“I have to.” The words sound like nails sealing a coffin. He draws in a breath, and his voice when he speaks is heavy with pain. “I need you to walk away.”

“No.” I’m shaking my head, but I don’t even realize it until I have to stop because the world is moving back and forth, and I am getting dizzy. “No,” I repeat. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you don’t need it. You don’t want it. And I’m sure as hell not doing it.”

“I’m not playing a game.” The pain is gone, replaced by a firm intensity. “I should have done this at the airport. I should have sent you back to LA the moment those detectives showed up in Santa Fe.”

“That is such bullshit.” I’m searching for words, for arguments, for understanding. But I’m finding none of those things. “Why are you doing this to me? To us?” Tears are streaming down my face, and I don’t even care.

Jackson’s fingers twitch, as if he wants to wipe them away, but he doesn’t reach for me. On the contrary, it looks as though he’s fighting hard to not touch me.

“Goddamn you, Jackson. You said you’d never do anything if the price was breaking me.” My voice is cracking and it sounds far away, as if I’m standing at the end of a very long tunnel. “What the hell do you think you’re doing now?”

“I am protecting you, baby. And I’m doing it the only way I know how.”

“The hell you are.”

“I once told you that where you are concerned I’m neither brave nor strong because the thought of losing you destroys me. And that’s true. But, dammit, Syl, I’ve found that strength. And it’s not you but the world that has destroyed me.”

“Jackson—” My voice is full of pain. And, yes, of understanding. But he doesn’t let me continue. Just shakes his head and pushes on.

“I’m strong enough for the both of us, baby. And this is over. It has to be. So as of this moment, we’re done. Because I won’t live like this, knowing that you are tied to a man who can’t even touch you. You deserve a life, Syl. I won’t have you thrown into a cage of our making just because I’m being tossed into one.”

“That’s not a decision you can make for me,” I say.

“The hell it’s not. You’ve handed me control, baby.”

My brows rise. “Control? In bed, sure. But about this? No fucking way.”

“Do you remember the photo I took of you?”

I know what he’s talking about, of course. I’d asked him to take it after Reed had sent me the blackmail photos. I’d needed to grab back some of what Reed had stolen, and so I’d had Jackson take a photo of me, bound and naked.

So, yeah. Of course I remember the photo.

I say nothing, but he knows that I do. How could I not? “That photo was the ultimate submission,” Jackson says.

“Bullshit. I asked you to take it.”

“You did,” he agrees. “But now it’s mine. I hold it. I control it. That wasn’t just about sex, Sylvia. The minute you asked me to take that photo you handed me control in your life, too. Because I could destroy you in a heartbeat.”

“You wouldn’t.” Despite everything he’s said tonight, I know that much is true.

His smile is a little sad. “No. Never. But that doesn’t change the basic fact—you gave yourself to me. Trusted me fully with your reputation. Your privacy. And now, baby, you have to trust me on this.”

“But I don’t,” I say.

He sighs. “Fair enough. But I know I’m right. And if you won’t walk away, Syl,” he says in a voice that breaks my heart, “then I will.”

“Are you sure about this?” Damien asked Jackson. They were on the Malibu property, meandering down pathways that led from the house to the beach. Now, they paused beside the tennis courts, and Damien opened the gate.

Jackson followed him onto the green surface, and took a seat at a courtside table across from his brother. “Believe me,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about little else.”

For hours now, he’d felt lost. Hollow. He’d really left her.

He was really going to move forward without Sylvia at his side. He’d fought so damn hard for her, and now he was throwing it away.

No.

No, he couldn’t look at it like that. He was fucking saving her. She deserved more than some sad life as a prison widow. And while he believed her when she said she would take care of Ronnie, how the hell could he put that on her? Only by being a selfish prick, that’s how.

Yes, he wanted his daughter with the woman he loved.

But even more than that, he wanted Sylvia happy and free. Not trapped.

So, yeah. As much as he hated it, he was sure about this. Sure enough that he’d walked away from her. Sure enough that he’d cut her to the core.

“I’m sure,” he said once more to his brother.

Damien didn’t nod, didn’t argue. He just looked at him, those dual-colored eyes seeing more than Jackson wanted to reveal.

“She loves you,” Damien finally said. “Do you really think that walking away will make her love you any less?”

Jackson ran his fingers through his hair, the words hurting him more than he wanted them to. “I think it will make her live her life.”

Damien lifted a brow, the expression almost smug. “Like you did after she left you in Atlanta?”

Jackson’s gut twisted as he fought against the truth of Damien’s words. This was different, dammit. He was going to fucking prison. “I just need to know if you’ll stand as Ronnie’s guardian, Damien. The rest isn’t up for discussion.”

For a moment, he thought his brother would argue. But then Damien nodded. “Of course I will. I need to talk it over with Nikki, but I’m certain she won’t have a problem. Ronnie’s my niece, after all.”

Jackson nodded slowly, relieved. “Thank you,” he said simply.

Everything around him was going to shit. But Ronnie, at least, was going to be okay.

“Damien told me what happened,” Nikki says. She’s arrived at my apartment with a bottle of wine. “It may only be lunchtime, but I figured you could use this.”

“Thanks.” I step back to let her in. I’m not entirely sure I want company, but I can’t deny that I appreciate the thought. And I know that Nikki understands what I’m feeling. Damien walked away from her once, too. I’d been working his desk, and even I hadn’t known where he was. And like Jackson, he’d done it supposedly to protect her.

So if I’m going to commiserate with someone, it makes sense that it’s Nikki.

“How are you doing?” she asks as I open the wine and pour two glasses.

We’ve moved to the patio, me on the chaise and Nikki in the chair. But right now, I don’t feel like sitting, so I stand up and walk to the rail, then look out at the neighboring building and the ocean beyond.

“Like the world is falling down around my ears,” I admit. “The resort is a mess. Just this morning, we lost two more investors because the word is out that Jackson is surrendering himself on Monday. And of course the press is all over that, calling Santa Cortez ‘troubled.’ How fucking annoying is that?”

“Very,” she says gently. “But I meant about Jackson.”

“I know you did.” I sigh deeply and return to the chaise. “Honestly, I don’t know if I’m angry or hurt or something else all together.”

“All of the above, I’d imagine.”

I nod. “The thing is, I know that I can be alone.” And it’s true—it’s true because Jackson taught me how to let go of my security blanket. How to find the strength inside myself. “But I don’t want to be alone. I want Jackson beside me.”

“Even though he might not be beside you?” she asks. “He’s right, you know. Damien talked with Charles and Harriet. With all the evidence against Jackson—especially the prior assault, his temper, the argument that witness overheard—Harriet’s pretty certain the DA is going to play hardball. And she’s even more certain that they’ll be able to get in evidence of the underground fighting he does.”

My eyes go to hers. “You know about that?”