I pull back abruptly with guilt hitting me like a bucket full of ice water. “We can’t—I mean?—”
“It’s complicated,” Gage finishes, but he doesn’t let go of me entirely. His hands rest on my waist as his thumbs trace small circles that make it hard to think straight.
“That’s the understatement of the century.”
The room continues to glow around us as the butterflies cast spastic shadows on the walls, and I try to find words that won’t completely break his heart.
“Even though I know things are going to be great and perfect for us someday,” I gird myself for what comes next, “I think we should take it slow for now.”
And just like that, I’ve eviscerated myself. It felt like hell to say those words, and twice as hard to mean them.
“How slow?” His frown is immediate, and adorable, and completely heartbreaking in every single way.
“Like really slowly,” I say with a sigh that comes from somewhere deep in my chest.
Gage does not look impressed.
In fact, he looks as if I just told him Christmas was canceled indefinitely. Around us, the butterflies begin to lose their luster, their vibrant blue wings fading to a duller shade as they respond to his disappointment.
He stares at me for a long moment, those blue eyes trying to read every thought in my head. Finally, he takes my hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles that makes my heart ache.
“Actually, Skyla. I came to say the very same thing.” There’s a morbid sadness in his eyes that makes me wonder if this is true. “In fact, I think maybe we’re better off as friends. I hope you didn’t mind the goodbye kiss.”
My lips invert as I swallow a gasp.
And then he’s gone, disappearing in that shimmering way that always leaves me feeling like I imagined the whole thing.
“Gage, wait!” I call out, but it’s too late.
The butterflies drop from the air one by one, their wings losing all color as they fall to the floor like tiny paper corpses.
I pick up one of the fallen butterflies, its wing crumbling between my fingers, and my heart aches for Gage in a way that makes it hard to breathe.
It seems the moment love stops fighting for itself, everything magical turns to dust.
18
Gage
The truck’s engine growls through the fog as if it’s as ticked off as I am.
Paragon’s eternal gloom wraps around me, thick and suffocating, and for once, the island’s mood matches mine perfectly. The fog clings to everything—the evergreens, the road signs, my windshield—as if it’s trying to hold on to something that’s already gone.
Just like me.
As soon as I left Skyla’s, I went straight for my truck. There’s no place on the planet I want to be right now, so I figured I may as well roam the old-fashioned way. I drive without thinking, muscle memory taking me through turns I could navigate blindfolded. The radio plays some sad song about lost love, and I punch it off before the lyrics can sink in any deeper. I don’t need a soundtrack to my own pathetic life.
That scene in the butterfly room keeps replaying in my head. Skyla’s face when she said she wanted to go slow. The way she wouldn’t quite meet my eyes. The careful distance she putbetween us as if I were something dangerous she needed to manage.
Go slow.
Two weeks ago, she was talking about our future. Our plans. Our first time. The way she looked at me as if I was her whole world. Now she wants to pump the brakes, and I know, Iknow, it’s because of Logan. That’s why I went over to tell her the very same thing. My heart fell to my feet last night when I spotted them going at it next to Cerberus. And tonight, at Dudley’s, I knew I couldn’t pretend everything was fine even if I wanted to. But I had no intention of telling her that I was there to end things until she dealt the first blow. That was just my ego getting in the way of rejection.
The road curves, and suddenly I’m at Rockaway. Our beach. The spot where everything between us started to make sense, where I built that ridiculous hut out of palm fronds and told her I loved her for the first time.
I park the truck and sit there with the engine ticking as it cools. The black sand stretches out in front of me, empty except for the waves that crash against the shore like they’re trying to beat something to death. The fog rolls in from the ocean, thick as guilt.
This was supposed to be our spot.Ourplace.
