I focus on the heads of our cocks, slowing my strokes and prolonging this. “Give me a week,” I beg. “Have you put in your notice yet?”
Yes, it’s mean of me to make him answer when he’s wearing that gorgeously glazed look in his eyes. “I…I haven’t. I mean, I was going to this afternoon. before I go home, and—”
I kiss him again to shut him up. “A week.” I say it with my lips pressed against his. “Please, Jordan. Give me aweek.”
“O-okay, Sir.”
Relief washes through me. Now that I know this is athing, abadthing, I can fix it, stop it. Derail it and get us all back on track. IknowI can.
I will not accept any other alternative.
Unfortunately…that’s not how life works out. And, a week later, I can’t lie to Jordan that I’ve made no progress with Elliot. When we wake up that morning, he sadly tells me that he’s going to put in his notice that morning.
Still, I make love to him, crying.
I’m crying again two weeks later—and so is he—when he makes one last sweep of the apartment for his things and then removes his bracelet and hands it to me. I don’t want to take it, but he puts it in my palm and gently closes my fingers around it.
I need him to stay, but I also cannot fault him for leaving.
Because he believes Elliot should be our next president.
“Please don’t leave me, Jordan. I love you.”
“I love you, and you are the man of my dreams, but there isn’t enough room for me between the two of you. Elliotneedsyou.”
Wanting something to work out a certain way, wanting it badly enough, is far from a guarantee that’s the direction life’s curveballs will break for you.
The silence echoing through the apartment as he closes the door behind him one last time guts me. I refused to take his keys back, because I still hope he won’t do it. That he’ll get downstairs and turn around. I can still taste his last kiss on my lips as I crumple to the floor, sobbing with his bracelet in my hands and cradled against me, still warm from being around his flesh.
I hate myself for being too weak to walk away from Elliot, and for being unable to make this fuckingwork.
Just like I couldn’t will Brad to survive, or force my body to comply to help him that day.
Now I have to find a way to survive on my own.
Because my boy’s right—Elliot needs me.
But I have no idea if I’m strong enough now.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Now — Early March
11 months until Iowa
This brings me to the present.
Here I am, sweat trickling between my shoulder blades while I stand in the shade of an oak tree and watch the entrance to the office building where Jordan works on the FSU campus. It’s early March and feels like a goddamned muggy furnace, even in the shade.
Fucking Florida humidity.
It’s a little before five, and he’s due to leave work any time now.
I still have no fucking clue what I’m going to do even though I swore to myselfthistime I would approach him.
What do I evensayto him?
I haven’t talked to him, haven’t texted with him in three months, and I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my goddamned skin. I once again think about texting him, but…
