The early morning sun peeks past the white curtains, casting an orange light over the room. Tucked in close to Beck, I glance at the clock.

Six. I have a few hours left before I need to catch my flight home, the sheer thought of leaving Beck again is breaking my heart.

My hand around his waist, my head pressing against his chest, I hold on to him tightly, trying to figure out how to make this work, how to talk to him about the future, about the possibility of us.

There is no question in my mind that he wants there to be an us. That was clear during our conversation last night, and from the . . . lovemaking we did all night and into the early hours of this morning.

We haven’t talked much since he spoke of his devastating past, since he poured out his entire soul right in front of me. Instead, we’ve communicated through our bodies: touching, holding, loving, and accepting. Healing. It’s what he needed. Every caress of his hand across my skin, every kiss to my lips, to my neck, to my breasts, they were intimate, languid, and purposeful. His strokes inside me were matched with a deeper connection in our gazes, his eyes never leaving mine, his love pouring out of him, his love for my understanding.

I cried.

I cried multiple times, seeing the utter heartbreak in his eyes, but also the promise of what’s to come. With every thrust inside me, it was like he was trying to wash away the emptiness inside his soul and replace it with hope.

I want to be that hope. I want to be the one who continues to watch this beautiful man grow. I want to be by his side when he struggles with his inner demons, and I want to be the one who gives him the world, who stands by his side when he speaks of his past, who hugs him when he’s struggling.

The one he loves.

I want it all.

But there is one thing I need to know first.

I stroke the light stubble on his chest, his taut chest twitching under my touch.

He groans and kisses the top of my head, pulling me closer into his chest. “Morning.” His sexy, half-awake morning voice rolls over me, deep and rumbly. Waking up alone tomorrow morning is going to suck.

“Morning,” I squeak out, moving my body closer. I kiss his chest not in a sexual way, but to show him I’m still here, that despite his past, I definitely think he’s the strongest man I know.

He kisses the top of my head, his fingers tangling with the long strands. “How did you sleep?”

“Perfectly.” I bite my bottom lip and try to figure out a way to bring up the topic I so desperately need to talk to him about. “At least I slept perfectly with the amount of sleep I got.”

He chuckles. “Sorry, I was kind of ravenous last night.”

“Kind of?”

His chest rumbles again, rising and falling with such a delicious sound. “All right, not kind of. I was greedy, but I’m not sorry because last night was”—he pauses, considering his words—“it was everything I needed to heal my heart, Rylee.”

My eyes involuntarily shut as his words roll over me. He was so honest, so open. He deserves the same.

“Where do you see your future?” I ask, jumping right into it.

Caught off guard from my abrupt question, he takes a second, his hand still playing with my hair, our naked bodies pressed against one another. “My future? Hell, I don’t know. I’ve never really planned out my future. There’s one thing I know though, I sure as hell hope you’re in it.”

I press another kiss on his chest, more to soothe my racing heart than his. “Have you ever pictured what your life could be? Like, do you want to travel? Or do you want the white picket fence? You know, that kind of future.”

“Are you asking if I’ll ever get married again?”

No. But I go with that. “Yeah, will you?”

“To the right person, yes. I know my first marriage was a sham, a decision I’ll always regret obviously, for many reasons. I don’t believe I’m a man who gives up on marriage because his first one was a nightmare. I see that marriage as more of a chapter I had to read through in order to get to where I am today. So, yes, I’d marry again.” He chuckles and asks, “Why, you looking to fill the position as wife?”

I laugh against his chest as well and playfully pinch his side.

“Hey, watch it, Saucy.” He takes my hand in his and laces our fingers together, bringing the connection to his lips.

“What else do you see?”

He exhales. “Hell, I don’t know. If I were to really go for it, if I could really fulfill my dreams, I could see myself owning an art studio with my pictures, every story told underneath, the vivid colors and compelling truths educating people. I can see a wife by my side, accompanying me to AA meetings, showing individuals who struggle that there is hope for a future. I can see a house that isn’t perfect, but perfect for my wife and me. I can see the cracks and dents that give the house character, just like my life. I can see children, so many fucking children running up to me, holding my finger, calling me Daddy, depending on me to be the father they deserve in their life, a father full of faults but determined to prove to his children they can make something of themselves.”

I swallow hard.

“How many children do you want?”

He doesn’t even pause before answering. “At least three, four if I’m a lucky bastard.”

I nod, my mouth going dry, my heart racing uncontrollably to the point that I can feel my lungs reaching, straining for air. Please don’t keep talking, Beck. Please don’t want—

“With Christine, I never wanted kids. I didn’t want to bring innocent lives into that dysfunctional mess. But with a little wisdom under my belt and a whole hell of a lot of promise, I want to give myself the chance to be a father. I want to prove to myself that even though I come from a damaged and torn-up past, I can still raise kind, loving, and selfless children, the type of children who make a difference in this world. The best kind of difference that understand their worth and the worth of others.”

Silence falls between us.

My lungs are screaming for air.

My heart is ready to explode.

My eyes brim with tears. If I blink, if I take one breath, I’ll lose it. And I don’t want to lose it, not in front of him.

To reassure him, I place a kiss on his chest and say, “Bathroom,” before sprinting out of bed and running across the room to the bathroom where I close and lock the door. Falling to the floor, I place my head in my hands and let the pain seep through my eyes into my palms. I try to catch my breath, but my chest is heaving, my body is shaking, and so many tears are falling uncontrollably.

I should have known.

From the very beginning, I should have known.

It’s obvious in the way he carries himself, in the way he’s so compassionate, sympathetic. His heart really is that big.

He’s supposed to be a father. He’s meant to be a father. He’ll be an incredible father. His kids and his wife will be the luckiest people in the world.

But it won’t be me. Can’t be me.

Because despite the love and empathy I can give him, the laughs and the passion, there is one thing I know I can’t give him.

Children.

The sorrow is building, the ability to hold it in any longer impossible as a sob bubbles out of me followed by more tears. I’m not quiet, I’m not discreet, and there is no hiding it anymore.

And as I expected, the man I’ve started to fall for, the man who’s become a staple in my life pads across the hotel floor and tries to open the door.

Knocking on it, he says, “Rylee, are you okay?”

More tears. More shaking.

Oh God. This hurts. It’s too much. It hurts—

“Rylee . . .”

I shake my head even though he can’t see me, my head still buried in my hands, the cold tiles of the floor chilling my body.

“Damn it, Rylee, open the door.” More pounding.

But I don’t move.

I can’t move.

I should never have come. I should never have answered his text messages. I should never have given him my body in Key West. I should have run as far away as possible, like I’ve promised myself I would do.

Run away.

It’s why I’ve struggled with writing. I’m not stupid. I understand a part of telling stories is mental, if you shut off a part of your life, an intricate part of your life, your writing will suffer.

And I shut off love.

At least I thought I did . . . until I met Beck.

Then he changed everything.

It’s so simple: meet a man, fall in love, get married, have kids, grow old together. That’s the fairy tale, right? At least that’s the “predicted fairy tale.”

Unfortunately, not everyone is that lucky. Myself included.

I get it, not everyone wants kids; not everyone sees a future that consists of soccer tournaments on the weekend and sticky hands clawing at your pants, begging for attention. But I did. I saw it so vividly, just like Beck.

“Rylee, please . . . open the door.”

I can’t. Looking around the bathroom, I see a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt from yesterday and quickly put them on. I tiptoe around the bathroom, gathering my cosmetics, tears dripping onto the marble counter. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and breeze past him.

“Rylee, what the hell is going on?”

I choke on a sob. “I . . . I have to go.” I reach my suitcase and start stuffing things inside.

“The hell you do.” Beck grabs my arm and pulls me away, hairspray dropping to the floor between us and rolling across the carpet. Lifting my chin, Beck searches my eyes. “Rylee, what are you doing? Why are you crying?”

Closing my eyes, more tears fall as my breath hitches in my chest once again. Beck pulls me into his arms, warming me with his strong hold, an embrace I’ve grown to adore. An embrace I may never feel again once I walk out the door.

“Talk to me. What happened from the bed to the bathroom that has you this upset?”

Gathering myself, knowing there is no other choice, I gently push away from him and zip up my bag. “This isn’t going to work, Beck.”

“You’re running again.” Beck blows out a frustrated breath and from the corner of my eye, I see him grab the back of his neck. “What the fuck, Rylee? Is this because of what I told you?”

“What?” I wipe a stray tear off my cheek and shake my head. “No, Beck. This isn’t because of you. This has nothing to do with what you told me last night.” I gather my backpack, phone, and charger and search the room one last time before turning toward Beck, giving the decency of a proper goodbye.

“Then what? Five fucking minutes ago you were snuggled up against me, kissing my goddamn chest. How could you possibly change your mind that quickly? Is it because I want a family?” I wince and he catches it. “That’s it, because I want a family. Hell, Rylee, I don’t need one right away. I wasn’t speaking of starting one tomorrow, but just knowing it’s something I’d like in the future. Christ, you asked me. I simply answered you.”

My gaze drops to the floor as more tears stream down my cheeks. “I can’t have a family.”

“You can’t, or you don’t want one?” he asks, his voice stern and unforgiving.

Choking back a sob, I take a deep breath and say, “I can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?” He’s spitting fire with every ounce of anger building inside him, and I know this is all my fault. If I acted like an adult—a mentally stable adult, who can hold a difficult conversation—he wouldn’t be nearly as worked up, but given the up-and-down roller coaster I’ve put him through, I can understand why he’s being so harsh. He’s been so open with me, exactly what I craved, and I’m pulling away. I’m saying no to an us.

Shaking my head, I swing my backpack over my shoulder, my throat so tight I can’t speak. I pull on the handle of my suitcase and head toward the door, Beck following behind me. When I open the door, he grips the wood from behind me, holding it tightly at the top.

Giving him one more glance, I take in his taut chest muscles flexing with every frustrated breath he takes. His eyes are narrowed at me, his brows pointed down, his knuckles turning white from the death grip he has on the door.

“Why the fuck not?” he repeats, holding me in his glare.

Not able to respond, my past a dagger to my already broken heart, I say, “I’m sorry, Beck.”

Disappointed, his head bowed, he says, “Not as sorry as I am.”

The door shuts, the loud click of the lock sounding off like a deathly silence in the hallway of the Bellagio. It’s like the final nail in the coffin of our story. Our burial.

I pause for a second, just a breath to see if he opens the door again, but when I hear nothing from the other side of the door, I take off toward the elevators, my heart dragging behind me.

* * *

Hood pulled over my head, a coffee in hand, knees tucked, I sit in an airport chair waiting for my flight. Passengers travel past me, suitcases rolling behind them, kids skipping along, not holding hands, and an occasional flight crew buzzing about their layover. Life rotates around me as I sit, stagnant, recollecting on all the mistakes I made with Beck.

Mistake number one: letting him say goodbye to my sweatshirt.

Mistake number two: not requesting a room far away from his.

Mistake number three: falling for a man I had no right falling for.

My phone buzzes next to me with a text message.

Zoey.

I sent her and Victoria a crazed text while waiting in line at security. I’m kind of surprised it’s taken one of them this long to get back to me.

Zoey: Hold on a second, what’s happening? You’re in Vegas with Beck and he wants kids and you walked out on him? When did you decide to go to Vegas and why didn’t I know about this?

I’m about to answer when Victoria pipes in with a text.

Victoria: Please tell me I’m not reading this correctly. You flew across the country to be with a man and didn’t tell us? That’s very irresponsible. You could have been hurt and we never would have known.

Oh Victoria.

Zoey: From the text message she sent, I’m going to assume she doesn’t need a lecture right now, Victoria. We can tell her how IDIOTIC it is to go somewhere without telling anyone later. For now, let’s focus on the facts. You left Beck in a hotel room. Why?

I type out a response.

Rylee: Rain check on the lecture, I know it was stupid. Despite that, Beck and I decided to meet up this weekend and it was . . . everything.

Zoey: Oh sweetie.

Victoria: He’s a very honest and sweet man.

Rylee: The best actually.

If I wasn’t so dehydrated, I’m pretty sure I could be crying some more as images of sexy and understanding Beck runs through my head.

Victoria: How was the weekend? What exactly went wrong?

Rylee: The weekend was amazing. It felt like everything was right in the world when I was in his arms. We crashed some weddings but then spent most of our time in our hotel room. Could sense things were getting serious but there was a roadblock in our relationship, our clouded pasts, so I asked Beck point-blank what he was hiding.

Zoey: What did he say?

Rylee: A story for another time. It’s far too much to type out. But after, we had the most incredibly amazing night. We . . . we made love. We didn’t speak much, but it was an unspoken understanding that we weren’t fucking, we weren’t screwing each other’s brains out like before. We were legit making love.

Victoria: I feel sad for where this is going.

Rylee: I fell for him and I fell hard. It was almost impossible to keep my heart out of the equation, especially after the story he told me. So I asked him what he saw for his future and he went on and on about having a family. He wants a wife and kids. I can’t give that to him.

Zoey: Oh Rylee, you can still have a family, you’re just going to have to go about it a different way, that’s all.

Victoria: Zoey is right. Just because you can’t have kids of your own doesn’t mean you need to give up on a man who clearly can’t get enough of you, who wants to be with you. You can find a solution.

Rylee: You guys didn’t hear him. He wants four kids. Four! He has dreams and who am I to stop him from making those dreams his reality?

Zoey: Rylee, I know the operation is still fresh in your memory, that the loss is still burning a hole in your heart, but you have to know not being able to carry your own child isn’t a hindrance to stop you from ever being happy.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, my thoughts traveling back to Beck. He was so sure, so set on having a family, on teaching his children his values. He deserves the world. How could I possibly consider taking that away from him?

Rylee: It’s not going to work out. There are just too many factors keeping us apart.

There is a pause and then Victoria responds.

Victoria: But what about all the positive factors pulling you together? Love doesn’t come along very often, Rylee. When you feel it, there is only one thing you can do: fall head over heels.

I cover my eyes with my hand, my throat closing in on itself, my nose stinging, signaling another wave of tears. God, how I wish things could be different, how I wish I had the courage to take a step forward toward a future with Beck, but even though there are options, I will always think in the back of my head, Beck wanted something different.

And that something different won’t ever include me.