Lachlan made sure to wipe his tears before she pulled back. He couldn't let her see him cry, not when he wanted to tell her the truth. No sugar-coating. No lying. She was going to leave one way or another, and he needed to be able to sleep that night knowing how to move forward—and if she would be there when he did. There were plenty of excuses he anticipated: job, trauma, not needing a relationship in the middle of all this. Little did he know... she already had one.

If it was possible to visibly flinch, Lachlan did just that. He drew in a sharp breath, almost as if he'd been seared by dragon's breath or struck in the gut by a rogue bludger. It stung just as much. "Involved?" he asked, a series of emotions flashing across his face—confusion, sadness, frustration, anger. What the fuck did "involved" mean? He could have screamed, cried even; however, he was so stunned that he could do nothing but stare. "So involved that this..." He motioned between him and her, remembering how just moments ago she'd clung to him as they kissed. "... can't happen?" Translation: You can't drop him?

(Besides, if she was so into him anyways, she wouldn't have kissed him just now. She would have mentioned him, too, he told himself. This was Fallon. He knew her. He knew her heart. He swore it. He believed it. She wouldn't have hidden it from him. He couldn't believe that.)

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