Deadline
Altered Tundra
Stryder BC
Hey Im Jordan
Ashley1
Pathei Mathos
TruckKun
Kaiidth
Although her time with Clive had occupied most of her attention, the last interaction between herself and Valentino haunted Dallas like a pestering, insistent ghost. She knew he wasn’t entitled to her attention or time of day, but she still felt guilty about the way she had been so curt and dismissive towards him. She debated texting him a little apology for the next few days, but always convinced herself against it out of worry that her intentions might be misinterpreted. It seemed, however, that the man must have telepathically sensed her thoughts being stuck on him, because the day the power came back on, a notification signaling an incoming text from him illuminated her screen. Dal pondered over her next move for a few hours, debating the pros and cons like she always did whenever it came to Valentino Lockwood. In the end, she decided this was the perfect opportunity for them to clear the air and set the expectations for their interactions moving forward– especially with how close she and Clive had gotten in the last few days. So after a deep breath and shaking off some nerves, Dallas texted Valen back, and the two made arrangements to meet the next day.
After selecting her most plain, unassuming outfit and keeping the hair and makeup to the basics (God forbid he looked at her and thought she was making any sort of move), Dallas got on her bike and made the short trek to the café on Main Street: the meeting point for today's encounter. She walked into the coffee-and-pastry-smelling venue, ordered a white chocolate mocha latte and took a seat, making sure to pick a booth within eyesight of her barista Hunter at the counter. Although they weren’t as close as she and Aiden were, the oldest Quinn brother cared about Dal enough to intervene if he noticed tensions rising or the situation escalating. She wasn’t expecting it to, but it was better safe than sorry.
Valen’s text had been sent with mixed feelings and painfully low expectations. After their last run-in, he hadn't been sure she'd reply, let alone read it, but he was glad she did both.
He shouldn't have been so unnerved by her cold shoulder at Huskers days ago, but, even with all his mistakes, he'd never anticipated the two of them hitting such a dead end.
Up until that run-in, he’d used the months of silence to harbor a vague hope that time would heal all wounds. His own old hurts had proven to still be raw and gaping—a reality he’d uncovered during their time together, with the grief of his late wife bleeding into their relationship—but he'd still wanted to hold onto the thought of a second chance.
Despite telling himself to bow out gracefully since the start of his downward drinking spiral, he hadn't been able to then—no better than he could now. He loved Dallas, even if his actions didn't show it the way he'd wanted—certainly not the way she'd deserved.
He stepped carefully into the cafe, ignoring the tinkling bell that signaled his entrance while his eyes sought her out. He paused just past the threshold, offering a tight detached smile at the man behind the counter before crossing over to Dallas. She looked beautiful as always. Her appearance was more casual, but she never had to try as hard as she did to be the most breathtaking one in a room.
He pulled out a chair, sinking his weary frame into it as he met her gaze. He let the silence hang for a second before clearing his throat, forcing the hardness of his voice to dissipate. “Hey, Dali.”
Dallas had watched Valentino enter the cafe with growing nervousness. From the way he slumped in his chair to the dark circles under his eyes, she could tell he was tired. That wasn’t a good sign. Tiredness meant that his temper would be shorter than usual, but there was nothing she could do about that. All she could hope was that being in a public setting would be enough to prevent anything bad from happening.
“Hi Valen,” Dallas greeted the man, noting his use of the nickname he had for her. She wouldn't chastise him for using it, but she hoped he didn't still think they were at that level of closeness anymore.
After a few uncomfortable seconds of tense silence, she decided to break the ice with the most casual question she could think of. “How was work?”
He gave his head a slight tilt in response to the question, deliberately freezing his hand to avoid twisting his ring out of habit. “Do you really want to talk about work?” he asked at last, his hazel eyes cautiously tracking her uneasiness.
He paused, checking himself, before gingerly stretching a careful hand across the table. His finger barely brushed over hers—tentative. “I miss you," he breathed, his chest tightening at the sheer weight of the admission.
The girl momentarily pressed her lips together, uncomfortably shifting in her seat as her green eyes moved away from Valentino's face to the table that separated them. “I know,” Dallas mumbled, biting her lower lip. It's not that she hadn't missed him as well. Flashbacks of the good memories they had shared together seemed to spring to the forefront of her mind whenever she saw Val or something that reminded her of him, filling the woman with nostalgia for times past. But not long after that, the bad memories would follow suit: the empty bottles, the shouting, the objects flying across the room, the holes in the doors and walls… All of them serving as a stark reminder of the reasons why the relationship ended in the first place– and why it needed to stay that way. “But you know we're not good for each other.”
The response was a bitter blow, and Valen couldn't entirely mask the sharp wince that tightened his face. “I don't know that," he insisted, steeling his jaw. “Dal, come on. I've given you space, and I'm not drinking—not like then."
He leaned forward slightly, keeping his voice a low, intense murmur. “If we just take things slower... it doesn't have to be like before. I won't let it get to that point, I swear to you." His tone bordered on an unfamiliar plea as he abandoned all subtlety, catching her hand to lace their fingers firmly together.
“Valen, you put your hands on me,” Dallas reminded the man, mimicking his low tone of voice to avoid broadcasting their private matters to any potential eavesdroppers. “You yelled in my face and grabbed me so hard I had bruises in my arms. How can I ever trust you won't do that again?” she asked him in earnest, squeezing his hand as she remembered that awful night. She could tell that Val had regretted the events of that evening since the day it happened, and truly believed that he loved her and desperately wanted her back. It made her heart ache to see him in pain. But for Dal, her trust had been irreparably broken. There was no going back from that.
“It's great that you're not drinking as much as before, but you still are. You're awful when you drink. You're scary. And if you ever really, really want to quit, you should do it for yourself, not for me or anyone else.”
Valen inhaled harshly as he dipped his head, unable to meet her eyes as she reminded him of what broke them apart. Gentle as her voice was, it never got easier to hear. “I was drinking when we met, Dal. It's not always like that." He stared down at their joined hands, his thumb tracking over the skin of her knuckles subconsciously.
He knew he should quit. Hell, he'd wanted to before he'd ever stepped foot in Pines Holler, but the bottle ran too deep. Even before the accident, that craving wasn't entirely his own—he’d inherited more than just his father's drunk temper, it would seem.
He gave his head a curt shake. Quitting entirely wasn't an option—he'd already learned that cold truth, time and again. It would take an act of God for that feat to stay permanent, and he knew damn well God didn't look out for people like him. He scraped his teeth over his bottom lip before prying his gaze upward again.
“One more chance. That's all I'm asking. You can have my weapon if you're that worried, Dal. I won't hurt you again." Even as he spoke, the shadowed fear remained in the back of his mind—he couldn't guarantee that. If worst came to worst once more, his hands stopped being his own. Despite that dark reality, he didn't know how to let her go—not without putting every effort forward to try to fix it.
Dallas’ brows furrowed together into a small frown while she silently pondered over his last statement. After that night, the worries she had about Valen were that he'd lose his temper and use his hands to go further than just grabbing her. His regulation weapon wasn't something that she'd ever really given thought of before. But now that he had brought it up? The more she thought about it, the more sick with dread she began to feel at the terrifying possibilities.
“If you're promising that you won't hurt me ever again, why would I need to have your weapon?” she said slowly, unable to hide the worry and newfound fear that she was sure was all over her face.
His eyebrows lifted at the question, floored that she was misreading his attempt to assuage her fears. He brought his free hand across the table, squeezing her hand tightly between both of his own.
“I would never use my weapon against you… do you really think I'm capable of that? I just meant to give you some peace of mind. You can shoot me in the arm if I ever yell at you like that again,” he said, the words coming out awkward. He realized too late that the dark joke probably wouldn't go over well with Dallas.
Dallas immediately shook her head. “I would never do that…” she mumbled weakly, fixing her eyes on her lap and biting her lip. This conversation was a lot more uncomfortable than she had anticipated... “And there's no reason to even bring that up as a possibility anyway. We just– We can’t be together again. That's it. We have to start moving on with our lives…” she trailed off, taking in a deep breath to steady her nerves and gather the courage to finally tell Valen what she had been up to the past few days. She just hoped that he wouldn't explode on the stop at the news– her heart was hammering at the mere thought of it. “Just like I've been doing with someone else.”
…And there it was.
Valen's hands stilled at the admission, his brows furrowing slightly as his head twisted in silent refusal. He didn't speak immediately, letting the words settle heavily between them—as they were inevitably bound to.
He withdrew his hands, pushing roughly against the wooden back of the chair. His expression shut down. “Right. Let me guess, that asshole from Huskers?" The venom in his voice slipped out before he could stop it, even as he immediately regretted his defensive leap to anger. He pressed a hand against his temple, squeezing his eyes shut as their finality came crashing into him.
Valentino's reaction to her confession had Dallas sinking in her chair, wishing she could make herself smaller. “Does it matter who with?” she debated, mustering up the courage to lift her gaze back up towards his face and immediately regretting it at the sight of the pain her words were causing him. She knew telling her ex the truth would break his heart, but stringing him along in any way or letting him think they had any chance wasn't fair, either. As much as it hurt, honesty was the way to go. “I just want you to be happy, Val. I want you to be with someone who doesn't bring out the absolute worst in you. We tried it already, and we both know that someone isn't me.”
Again, he allowed some space to follow Dallas's words, fighting to keep his raw emotions from snapping off his tongue. She was right—it didn't matter, at least not right now; he'd have no trouble verifying the who later on.
He forced his gaze back to hers before finally prying his teeth apart to speak. “I want to be happy with you. So where exactly does that leave us?" he asked, his unwavering focus piercing through her. "We gave it one shot, Dal. I know I fucked up, I know that,” he rasped, ignoring the hollow beating in his chest as he dropped his clenched fists into his lap, willfully out of view. “How am I supposed to let you go without a chance to make it right?”
The bitter words tasted like ash, an echoing question he'd asked many times over in what felt like a different lifetime before this one.
Dallas shifted her gaze back to her lap, her lower lip wobbling as a warning of incoming tears. “I don't know,” she finally croaked with a small shrug of her shoulders, wiping away the corner of her eyes. “I wish I could help you and have the answer to that, but I don't.”
If Valen had pursued her with this intensity shortly after their break-up, chances are she would've taken him back, and the two would've ended up in that toxic cycle so many couples found themselves in. But after their time apart, Mollie's constant guidance on what was and wasn't acceptable in a relationship and Dal's own self-reflection, there was no turning back the clock. Their relationship had been over the second he let his anger overtake him that night.
“Hey, don't…” His hand wavered on his lap before he flexed his clenched fingers loose to bring his palm to her cheek, his thumb brushing away the threat of her tears. He exhaled a heavy breath, hoping the touch would dislodge some of the guilt twisting in his chest. It didn't.
“You don't have to have the answers, Dal—and it isn't your responsibility to help me,” he said softly, every muscle feeling like a wire about to snap under the mounting dread of this moment. “I'm not ready to say goodbye to you yet," he admitted, the truth scraping raw against his throat. “I really do love you... you know that?"
The blonde nodded silently, leaning into the open palm against her cheek. Valentino loving her was a fact that she'd never put into question. Even after everything that had transpired between them, that was the one truth she didn’t doubt. But saying it over and over didn’t erase the painful past between them. It didn’t erase the sound of shattering glass as bottles hit the floor or the wall, the harsh tone in his raised voice whenever she tried to distract him from one of his spirals, the feeling of hopelessness when nothing she did was ever good enough to keep him happy… Dallas knew she deserved to be loved in a soft way that made her feel happy and cherished. She deserved to be treated with tenderness and care, surrounded by patience and harmony. She deserved to be with someone who wouldn’t lash out at her when they had a negative experience, or who would make her question daily whether the day would be a good one or a bad one. And she knew very well that Valentino was not someone who could give her any of that.
Finally, the young woman spoke up. “I know you do, Val. I believe you,” Dallas told Valen, gently removing his hand from her cheek and placing it back on the table. “And that’s why I hope you can respect my decision. I’m really sorry.”
With her apology still hanging heavy in the air between them, Dallas pushed her chair back and stood up. She stopped long enough to softly kiss Valen’s cheek– the last kiss she would ever give him– before departing the cafe.
Valen's chair scraped back, loud and shrill in the otherwise silent cafe, as he followed her to his feet. The parting kiss to his cheek didn't provide an ounce of comfort, and the words he was holding tight in his chest never got a chance to surface. Before he could even draw breath to speak, she was already pushing her way through the door.
He could have followed her—God, how he wanted to—but his boots remained firmly rooted to the patterned tile. Instead, he cursed sharply under his breath, the harsh sound fraught with absolute devastation. Jerking his hand into his pocket, he yanked out his phone. Biting down hard on his inner lip, his thumbs were already heavily stabbing at the lit screen once he'd brought up their recent texts…
Valen: My door is always open
Valen: I hope you change your mind
He didn't send the third one, backspacing it after staring down at the blinking cursor for several agonizing minutes:
Valen: Don't give up on me
He clenched his fingers around the device, closing his eyes as he inhaled to resist the urge to fling it at the wall. This was the problem, and the fact that it was happening now just confirmed that Dallas's choice to move on was the right one.
He would have to find a way to deal with that on his own.
After selecting her most plain, unassuming outfit and keeping the hair and makeup to the basics (God forbid he looked at her and thought she was making any sort of move), Dallas got on her bike and made the short trek to the café on Main Street: the meeting point for today's encounter. She walked into the coffee-and-pastry-smelling venue, ordered a white chocolate mocha latte and took a seat, making sure to pick a booth within eyesight of her barista Hunter at the counter. Although they weren’t as close as she and Aiden were, the oldest Quinn brother cared about Dal enough to intervene if he noticed tensions rising or the situation escalating. She wasn’t expecting it to, but it was better safe than sorry.
Valen’s text had been sent with mixed feelings and painfully low expectations. After their last run-in, he hadn't been sure she'd reply, let alone read it, but he was glad she did both.
He shouldn't have been so unnerved by her cold shoulder at Huskers days ago, but, even with all his mistakes, he'd never anticipated the two of them hitting such a dead end.
Up until that run-in, he’d used the months of silence to harbor a vague hope that time would heal all wounds. His own old hurts had proven to still be raw and gaping—a reality he’d uncovered during their time together, with the grief of his late wife bleeding into their relationship—but he'd still wanted to hold onto the thought of a second chance.
Despite telling himself to bow out gracefully since the start of his downward drinking spiral, he hadn't been able to then—no better than he could now. He loved Dallas, even if his actions didn't show it the way he'd wanted—certainly not the way she'd deserved.
He stepped carefully into the cafe, ignoring the tinkling bell that signaled his entrance while his eyes sought her out. He paused just past the threshold, offering a tight detached smile at the man behind the counter before crossing over to Dallas. She looked beautiful as always. Her appearance was more casual, but she never had to try as hard as she did to be the most breathtaking one in a room.
He pulled out a chair, sinking his weary frame into it as he met her gaze. He let the silence hang for a second before clearing his throat, forcing the hardness of his voice to dissipate. “Hey, Dali.”
Dallas had watched Valentino enter the cafe with growing nervousness. From the way he slumped in his chair to the dark circles under his eyes, she could tell he was tired. That wasn’t a good sign. Tiredness meant that his temper would be shorter than usual, but there was nothing she could do about that. All she could hope was that being in a public setting would be enough to prevent anything bad from happening.
“Hi Valen,” Dallas greeted the man, noting his use of the nickname he had for her. She wouldn't chastise him for using it, but she hoped he didn't still think they were at that level of closeness anymore.
After a few uncomfortable seconds of tense silence, she decided to break the ice with the most casual question she could think of. “How was work?”
He gave his head a slight tilt in response to the question, deliberately freezing his hand to avoid twisting his ring out of habit. “Do you really want to talk about work?” he asked at last, his hazel eyes cautiously tracking her uneasiness.
He paused, checking himself, before gingerly stretching a careful hand across the table. His finger barely brushed over hers—tentative. “I miss you," he breathed, his chest tightening at the sheer weight of the admission.
The girl momentarily pressed her lips together, uncomfortably shifting in her seat as her green eyes moved away from Valentino's face to the table that separated them. “I know,” Dallas mumbled, biting her lower lip. It's not that she hadn't missed him as well. Flashbacks of the good memories they had shared together seemed to spring to the forefront of her mind whenever she saw Val or something that reminded her of him, filling the woman with nostalgia for times past. But not long after that, the bad memories would follow suit: the empty bottles, the shouting, the objects flying across the room, the holes in the doors and walls… All of them serving as a stark reminder of the reasons why the relationship ended in the first place– and why it needed to stay that way. “But you know we're not good for each other.”
The response was a bitter blow, and Valen couldn't entirely mask the sharp wince that tightened his face. “I don't know that," he insisted, steeling his jaw. “Dal, come on. I've given you space, and I'm not drinking—not like then."
He leaned forward slightly, keeping his voice a low, intense murmur. “If we just take things slower... it doesn't have to be like before. I won't let it get to that point, I swear to you." His tone bordered on an unfamiliar plea as he abandoned all subtlety, catching her hand to lace their fingers firmly together.
“Valen, you put your hands on me,” Dallas reminded the man, mimicking his low tone of voice to avoid broadcasting their private matters to any potential eavesdroppers. “You yelled in my face and grabbed me so hard I had bruises in my arms. How can I ever trust you won't do that again?” she asked him in earnest, squeezing his hand as she remembered that awful night. She could tell that Val had regretted the events of that evening since the day it happened, and truly believed that he loved her and desperately wanted her back. It made her heart ache to see him in pain. But for Dal, her trust had been irreparably broken. There was no going back from that.
“It's great that you're not drinking as much as before, but you still are. You're awful when you drink. You're scary. And if you ever really, really want to quit, you should do it for yourself, not for me or anyone else.”
Valen inhaled harshly as he dipped his head, unable to meet her eyes as she reminded him of what broke them apart. Gentle as her voice was, it never got easier to hear. “I was drinking when we met, Dal. It's not always like that." He stared down at their joined hands, his thumb tracking over the skin of her knuckles subconsciously.
He knew he should quit. Hell, he'd wanted to before he'd ever stepped foot in Pines Holler, but the bottle ran too deep. Even before the accident, that craving wasn't entirely his own—he’d inherited more than just his father's drunk temper, it would seem.
He gave his head a curt shake. Quitting entirely wasn't an option—he'd already learned that cold truth, time and again. It would take an act of God for that feat to stay permanent, and he knew damn well God didn't look out for people like him. He scraped his teeth over his bottom lip before prying his gaze upward again.
“One more chance. That's all I'm asking. You can have my weapon if you're that worried, Dal. I won't hurt you again." Even as he spoke, the shadowed fear remained in the back of his mind—he couldn't guarantee that. If worst came to worst once more, his hands stopped being his own. Despite that dark reality, he didn't know how to let her go—not without putting every effort forward to try to fix it.
Dallas’ brows furrowed together into a small frown while she silently pondered over his last statement. After that night, the worries she had about Valen were that he'd lose his temper and use his hands to go further than just grabbing her. His regulation weapon wasn't something that she'd ever really given thought of before. But now that he had brought it up? The more she thought about it, the more sick with dread she began to feel at the terrifying possibilities.
“If you're promising that you won't hurt me ever again, why would I need to have your weapon?” she said slowly, unable to hide the worry and newfound fear that she was sure was all over her face.
His eyebrows lifted at the question, floored that she was misreading his attempt to assuage her fears. He brought his free hand across the table, squeezing her hand tightly between both of his own.
“I would never use my weapon against you… do you really think I'm capable of that? I just meant to give you some peace of mind. You can shoot me in the arm if I ever yell at you like that again,” he said, the words coming out awkward. He realized too late that the dark joke probably wouldn't go over well with Dallas.
Dallas immediately shook her head. “I would never do that…” she mumbled weakly, fixing her eyes on her lap and biting her lip. This conversation was a lot more uncomfortable than she had anticipated... “And there's no reason to even bring that up as a possibility anyway. We just– We can’t be together again. That's it. We have to start moving on with our lives…” she trailed off, taking in a deep breath to steady her nerves and gather the courage to finally tell Valen what she had been up to the past few days. She just hoped that he wouldn't explode on the stop at the news– her heart was hammering at the mere thought of it. “Just like I've been doing with someone else.”
…And there it was.
Valen's hands stilled at the admission, his brows furrowing slightly as his head twisted in silent refusal. He didn't speak immediately, letting the words settle heavily between them—as they were inevitably bound to.
He withdrew his hands, pushing roughly against the wooden back of the chair. His expression shut down. “Right. Let me guess, that asshole from Huskers?" The venom in his voice slipped out before he could stop it, even as he immediately regretted his defensive leap to anger. He pressed a hand against his temple, squeezing his eyes shut as their finality came crashing into him.
Valentino's reaction to her confession had Dallas sinking in her chair, wishing she could make herself smaller. “Does it matter who with?” she debated, mustering up the courage to lift her gaze back up towards his face and immediately regretting it at the sight of the pain her words were causing him. She knew telling her ex the truth would break his heart, but stringing him along in any way or letting him think they had any chance wasn't fair, either. As much as it hurt, honesty was the way to go. “I just want you to be happy, Val. I want you to be with someone who doesn't bring out the absolute worst in you. We tried it already, and we both know that someone isn't me.”
Again, he allowed some space to follow Dallas's words, fighting to keep his raw emotions from snapping off his tongue. She was right—it didn't matter, at least not right now; he'd have no trouble verifying the who later on.
He forced his gaze back to hers before finally prying his teeth apart to speak. “I want to be happy with you. So where exactly does that leave us?" he asked, his unwavering focus piercing through her. "We gave it one shot, Dal. I know I fucked up, I know that,” he rasped, ignoring the hollow beating in his chest as he dropped his clenched fists into his lap, willfully out of view. “How am I supposed to let you go without a chance to make it right?”
The bitter words tasted like ash, an echoing question he'd asked many times over in what felt like a different lifetime before this one.
Dallas shifted her gaze back to her lap, her lower lip wobbling as a warning of incoming tears. “I don't know,” she finally croaked with a small shrug of her shoulders, wiping away the corner of her eyes. “I wish I could help you and have the answer to that, but I don't.”
If Valen had pursued her with this intensity shortly after their break-up, chances are she would've taken him back, and the two would've ended up in that toxic cycle so many couples found themselves in. But after their time apart, Mollie's constant guidance on what was and wasn't acceptable in a relationship and Dal's own self-reflection, there was no turning back the clock. Their relationship had been over the second he let his anger overtake him that night.
“Hey, don't…” His hand wavered on his lap before he flexed his clenched fingers loose to bring his palm to her cheek, his thumb brushing away the threat of her tears. He exhaled a heavy breath, hoping the touch would dislodge some of the guilt twisting in his chest. It didn't.
“You don't have to have the answers, Dal—and it isn't your responsibility to help me,” he said softly, every muscle feeling like a wire about to snap under the mounting dread of this moment. “I'm not ready to say goodbye to you yet," he admitted, the truth scraping raw against his throat. “I really do love you... you know that?"
The blonde nodded silently, leaning into the open palm against her cheek. Valentino loving her was a fact that she'd never put into question. Even after everything that had transpired between them, that was the one truth she didn’t doubt. But saying it over and over didn’t erase the painful past between them. It didn’t erase the sound of shattering glass as bottles hit the floor or the wall, the harsh tone in his raised voice whenever she tried to distract him from one of his spirals, the feeling of hopelessness when nothing she did was ever good enough to keep him happy… Dallas knew she deserved to be loved in a soft way that made her feel happy and cherished. She deserved to be treated with tenderness and care, surrounded by patience and harmony. She deserved to be with someone who wouldn’t lash out at her when they had a negative experience, or who would make her question daily whether the day would be a good one or a bad one. And she knew very well that Valentino was not someone who could give her any of that.
Finally, the young woman spoke up. “I know you do, Val. I believe you,” Dallas told Valen, gently removing his hand from her cheek and placing it back on the table. “And that’s why I hope you can respect my decision. I’m really sorry.”
With her apology still hanging heavy in the air between them, Dallas pushed her chair back and stood up. She stopped long enough to softly kiss Valen’s cheek– the last kiss she would ever give him– before departing the cafe.
Valen's chair scraped back, loud and shrill in the otherwise silent cafe, as he followed her to his feet. The parting kiss to his cheek didn't provide an ounce of comfort, and the words he was holding tight in his chest never got a chance to surface. Before he could even draw breath to speak, she was already pushing her way through the door.
He could have followed her—God, how he wanted to—but his boots remained firmly rooted to the patterned tile. Instead, he cursed sharply under his breath, the harsh sound fraught with absolute devastation. Jerking his hand into his pocket, he yanked out his phone. Biting down hard on his inner lip, his thumbs were already heavily stabbing at the lit screen once he'd brought up their recent texts…
Valen: My door is always open
Valen: I hope you change your mind
He didn't send the third one, backspacing it after staring down at the blinking cursor for several agonizing minutes:
Valen: Don't give up on me
He clenched his fingers around the device, closing his eyes as he inhaled to resist the urge to fling it at the wall. This was the problem, and the fact that it was happening now just confirmed that Dallas's choice to move on was the right one.
He would have to find a way to deal with that on his own.
