He drops his hands and takes a step back from me, and the loss of contact is so unexpected, I gasp. But the look on his face is one of pure devastation. He shakes his head slowly as he says, “You’re pulling the book.”

Straightening my spine, I feign the confidence I need to get through this. “I have to. I won’t survive another round. And please don’t tell me it’ll be different this time. It doesn’t matter.”

Ryan’s expression hardens, and fear settles deep in my gut. Despite all the reassurances—that I am more than my books, that he loves me for who I am and not what I write, that he’ll stay by my side no matter what—my books have never truly been off the table. When words and souls and bodies are so wrapped up that you don’t know where one ends and the other begins, what happens if one of those is untangled? Does the whole thing unravel?

“The world needs this book.” His voice is firm. “You’re not going to let some asshole win, are you? This won’t last forever. They’ll convince JMP that signing you was a good move, and then it’ll be over.”

“It’s more than just what Charles did.” I sink into an empty chair. “You and I both know that once they realize how much they can make if I play along, they’ll never let me rest again. We like to tell ourselves that it’s about the art, not the money. And that’s true to some extent…until someone makes a bunch of the latter.” I turn my gaze up to meet his again, needing him to understand. “I loved writing all my books, Ryan. They’re all pieces of me, and the fact that each one of them has gone through you in one way or another only makes them more special. But I can’t take part in another money-making scheme that involves these books I love so much. It won’t make me happy. I want to be happy.”

I turn my eyes to him, internally pleading for him to understand. All I’ve ever wanted was to exist with my words. With him. I can’t do that with so many other people in the mix. And I certainly can’t do that when I’m not actually with him, when I’m traveling the country living for phone calls and counting sleeps.

Ryan falls to his knees in front of me. He cups my face with his hands, and I have no choice but to look right into his brown eyes. “You’re a writer. You’re the best damn writer I’ve ever worked with. You cannot let Charles Hall take that away from you.”

“I’m not letting him take anything,” I counter. “I’m making a very conscious decision to keep it for myself.”