Chapter Eighteen - No Looking Back.
1570 Words
When she hung up, she didn’t linger.
She didn’t go looking for Colt.
Didn’t tell Frankie right away.
Didn’t let the news shift her steps.
She just walked back inside, heels clicking against the floor, calm as ever.
If she could go home in a few months, she would.
And if not?
She’d build something for herself wherever she landed next.
Because for the first time, her future belonged to her.
Not to the club.
Not to Colt.
Not to fear.
Just hers.
Colt was in the upstairs hallway when he heard it.
He wasn’t trying to listen in. Wasn’t creeping. But the window was cracked, and Avery’s voice carried—clear, calm, too composed.
“Do you think it’ll be safe to return in the next few months?”
He stopped walking.
The rest of her words blurred under the weight of that single sentence.
She was checking in. Asking about going home.
Planning her exit.
Not threatening it.
Not playing a game.
Not using it to get a rise out of him.
She was just… ready.
And that hit harder than any fight ever had.
Colt stayed frozen, jaw locked, shoulders tense.
This wasn’t about her being mad anymore.
This wasn’t about space, or silence, or pushing him to react.
She wasn’t trying to teach him a lesson.
She was simply… moving on.
He stood at the top of the stairs long after her voice had faded.
No yelling.
No crying.
No ultimatums.
Just the quiet knowledge that she was done holding out hope he’d change.
That she had already chosen something beyond him.
And the worst part?
She wasn’t wrong to.
He’d stood by while she slipped out of his room.
He’d watched her walk past him day after day without lifting a finger.
He let her untangle him from her life thread by thread, thinking she'd always circle back.
But Avery didn’t orbit anyone.
Not anymore.
And now?
Now she was checking the calendar.
Lining up her future.
And he wasn’t in it.
Colt finally moved, descending the stairs, fists clenched at his sides.
The house buzzed with low music and club banter.
Someone called his name. He ignored it.
He didn’t know what he was going to do yet.
But for the first time, Colt Mercer wasn’t thinking about power, control, or pride.
He was thinking about loss.
Real, permanent, unfixable loss.
And it was starting to sink in that if he stayed silent one more day—
He’d lose the only woman who ever saw something in him worth saving.
Avery had just finished folding the last of the clothes she picked up earlier from the donation run when she heard the knock.
Not the polite kind.
The heavy kind.
The kind that made the frame tremble just slightly.
The kind that told her exactly who it was.
She didn’t answer right away.
She stood, spine straightening, her breath steady.
Then she opened the door.
Colt stood there, all broad shoulders and unreadable eyes, his jaw tight, his posture still carrying the weight of authority—but his presence was different.
It wasn’t aggressive.
It wasn’t controlling.
It was… intentional.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, low and flat.
Avery stepped aside without a word.
He walked in. She shut the door behind him.
He didn’t sit. Neither did she.
They faced each other in the center of the room, quiet stretching between them like a live wire.
“I heard you on the phone,” Colt said. No lead-in. No lies. “You’re planning to go home.”
She nodded once. “Yes.”
Silence again.
He looked at her then—not the version of her that wore fancy clothes and perfume like armor. Not the one who fought him at every turn.
He saw her.
Strong. Quiet. Whole.
And slipping away.
“You’re not even gonna say goodbye, huh?” he said, and it wasn’t angry. It was hollow.
Avery tilted her head slightly, expression unreadable. “You never said hello.”
That hit.
Hard.
He swallowed. “You said I was never truly yours.”
She held his gaze. “You never let yourself be.”
Colt took a breath—shaky, too quiet for someone like him. “You were mine.”
“Was I?” she asked. “Or was I just someone who filled your bed while you figured out how to lead the club?”
He didn’t answer.
Because the truth was yes.
And that truth shamed him.
“I should’ve stopped you when you moved out,” he said, voice rough now.
“You didn’t,” she said gently. “And that told me everything.”
Another silence.
This one thicker. Heavier.
Then—
“I’m not okay with you leaving,” Colt said, stepping closer, slower. “Not because you’re under my roof or in my protection. I’m not okay with it because you were the only good thing I ever had, and I didn’t know how to hold onto it without breaking it.”
Avery’s breath caught.
But she didn’t speak.
So Colt kept going.
“I don’t want the rest of the women. I don’t want this place without you in it. I don’t want to keep walking past you and pretending I don’t feel like I’m drowning in the space you left behind.”
Her hands clenched at her sides.
Still, she didn’t step forward.
“You want to go?” he said, quieter now. “I’ll let you. But I’m not standing in your way because I don’t care. I’m standing back because I finally get what I’ve done.”
He took one more step toward her.
Not to reach for her.
To give her the floor.
“You were never just mine,” he said. “But I wish like hell I’d been more yours.”
Avery stood still, her expression unreadable.
But inside?
She was shaking.
Not because of fear.
Or confusion.
But because this was what she needed.
Not to be claimed.
Not to be pulled into bed and silenced with heat.
She needed truth.
And now—finally—he’d given it to her.
Avery looked up at Colt—shoulders back, eyes steady.
Her heart pounded, but her voice was calm when she finally spoke.
“You want my truth?” she asked.
He gave the smallest nod. He didn’t move.
She stepped closer—not much, just enough that the space between them felt real again.
“I’ve loved you since I was seventeen.”
Colt's breath caught, almost too quietly to hear.
“You didn’t know it, because I never told you. I kept it buried under books and ambition and all that distance I built between you and me. But I loved you.”
She blinked, but her voice didn’t shake.
“I loved you when you barely knew my name. I loved you when you let those other girls hang on you like trophies. And I hated myself for it.”
He started to speak—some word that never made it past his throat—but she held up a hand.
“I’m not done.”
Colt went still again, jaw flexing.
“I loved you in high school, and I thought maybe—just maybe—you’d eventually see me. And when you did, when you kissed me, when you brought me into your life like it meant something… I thought I’d finally stopped being invisible.”
She gave a bitter, small smile.
“But I never stopped feeling like I could be replaced. That I was just convenient. That if I stopped being easy, or available, or obedient… you’d forget me all over again.”
Colt’s expression shifted—tightened.
And Avery? She stepped in close enough that he could feel her breath.
“I wasn’t asking for flowers or fairy tales. I wasn’t asking to tame the monster. I just wanted you—the version of you who saw me. Who fought for me. Who didn’t make me feel like I had to crawl to be loved.”
He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
And she pressed the final truth into his chest like a blade.
“And when I finally walked away—when I found peace? You let me. You watched me walk out of your bed, out of your room, out of your life—and you let me.”
The silence between them pulsed like a wound.
“I’m not angry anymore,” she whispered. “I’m just… tired.”
And then, softer:
“And I don’t want love that makes me tired.”
Colt swallowed hard, his throat raw, his heart heavy.
But he didn’t reach for her.
Because now, finally, he understood what it would cost to earn the right to hold her again.
Avery stood still, her breathing even, her shoulders no longer tense.
Colt didn’t move.
He couldn’t.
Because anything he said now would be too much.
Too late.
Too wrong.
So he said nothing.
And she didn’t press for more.
No dramatic exit.
No tears.
She just turned away, walked to the window, and stood there—watching the last of the light sink behind the horizon.
Colt stayed where he was, the echo of her words pressing down on every inch of him.
The silence stretched.
Not empty.
Not cold.
Just final.
- Writer
