Page 203 of His Reckoning

For the first time since I left, I let myself think it all the way through.

I finished that book, the best one I’d ever written, the one that finally felt right, and I walked away from it.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

The idea of putting it out into the world, knowing it hurt him, felt worse.

A slow breath leaves my chest.

I stare out at the path ahead, watching people pass by without really seeing them.

I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know if I’ll get another deal. Another book. Another chance like that.

And for the first time since I started writing … I don’t have a plan.

That thought should scare me, but it doesn’t. At least not the way it should.

There’s only one thing that actually matters right now.

I close my eyes briefly, then open them again. I would never trade his trust for a book.

The realization settles deep.

I push off the bench and start walking again, slower this time. No destination or anywhere to rush. Just moving forward.

Even if I don’t know what comes next, I know I made the right choice.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Sawyer

Ibring the book to work. I didn’t think about it. Just grabbed it off the table on my way out like it was any other file I needed to review.

I pretend it belongs in my office, though it doesn’t. That becomes obvious the second I step inside.

With glass walls, assistants moving through the outer office, and Dean already at his desk across the hall, everything about this place is controlled.

It’s professional and orderly while I’m standing here, holding something that feels like none of those things. I drop it onto my desk anyway.

Face down, as if that somehow makes it less obvious.

I don’t open it right away though. I try to work by answering emails and reviewing numbers. I sit through a meeting where someone is talking about projections for next quarter, but I hear none of it.

My attention keeps drifting back to the corner of my desk, where the book sits, waiting.

By the time the meeting ends, I don’t even pretend anymore. I close the door to my office and turn the blinds halfway. Not enough to raise suspicion, but just enough.

I sit down, flip the book over, and stare at the cover for a second. My name isn’t on it. My life isn’t written anywhere inside. It shouldn’t feel like it has anything to do with me.

And yet, I open it.

The first few chapters are what I expect.

Setting up the characters with their world building. I skim at first, doing my best to stay detached.

But then I slow down because something shifts. The hero isn’t just confident. He’s controlled and measured. Always thinking three steps ahead.

A muscle pulses in my jaw, but I keep reading.