I Apologize

I Apologize
Rachael

Morning bled into the house slow and pale. The TV was still flickering low, the empty pizza boxes stacked on the table, Roman asleep upright beside me. For once, I didn’t wake to panic. Just the steady sound of his breathing.
I slipped off the couch, padded barefoot into the kitchen, and poured two mugs of coffee. My hands still shook faintly, but the tremors didn’t own me like they used to. When Roman wandered in, hair mussed, shirt wrinkled, he looked more human than fed.....almost boyish.
“Coffee,” I said, sliding a mug across.
He smiled, soft. “You’re starting to sound like a partner.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
He laughed, and for one suspended moment, it felt like peace might actually stick this time.
Then my phone buzzed on the counter.
Marty’s name lit the screen.
I answered, already bracing.
“Sinclair,” he said, voice thin. “You might want to get down here.”
My gut tightened. “Why?”
“Hale’s gone.”
I went cold. “Gone?”
“Judge ordered a release. Paperwork mix-up. Said there wasn’t enough to hold him.”
The words didn’t make sense. I looked up at Roman. His jaw was locked, eyes already sharp again.
“When?” I asked.
“Hour ago.”
The line went dead.
Roman met my stare. “Then we find him first.”
The air between us snapped tight. He was calm, but his calm scared me. I could feel it—the part of him that wasn’t all gentle hands and quiet eyes. The part that wanted blood.
Before I could answer, another buzz. A text.

Unknown number.
He’s not the one you should fear.
My breath hitched.
Roman’s hand closed over mine, steady, firm. “Who sent that?”
I shook my head, throat dry. “I don’t know.”
But the look in his eyes said he already had theories.

He took the phone from my hand, read the message once, then set it down slow. “Then we start there.”
Outside, the siren of a train echoed across town, long and low. Something ending. Something starting.
Later, when I stepped out of the shower, Roman was in the kitchen. His back was to me, phone to his ear, voice low.
“…yeah,” he murmured. “She’s cracking. Another week, maybe less.”
A pause.
“No. She doesn’t suspect a thing.”
He hung up before I could breathe his name.
I froze in the doorway, towel clutched to my chest, heart beating hard enough to hurt.
In the silence, the coffee pot hissed, and Roman turned, his smile easy, warm.
“Breakfast?” he asked.
I swallowed the question clawing up my throat. “Sure.”
The words felt like a lie and a promise all at once.

Author’s Note
This chapter marks the conclusion of Cross My Heart as written and authorized by me.
Due to circumstances outside my control, I will not be continuing this story or releasing further chapters on this platform. If future updates appear beyond this point, please know they were not written or approved by me.
I cannot discuss details, but my creative work here is complete. To every reader who has supported this story—thank you for your time, your passion, and your faith in these characters.
If you wish to continue following me, please search for me by this pen name on other platforms. This is not the resolution I was hoping for. You readers deserve better.
With gratitude,
— Veronica White.