“Hey,” Lot says.
“Hey.”
We don’t move at first, simply staring at each other, so much beating between us. Everything said… and not said. Her beautiful eyes are rimmed pink, like maybe she already cried. I hate that I wasn’t here to hold her when she did.
But I’m here now.
I cross the room in three strides and pull her in. She comes willingly, hands fisting the back of my hoodie. Mine circle her waist, feeling the way she fits against me. My lungs fill with her scent, clenching to breathe in warm vanilla and coconut.
“I hate saying goodbye,” she whispers. “I didn’t want it to be this hard.”
I reach up, lifting her face to trace her jaw, the curve of her cheekbone. “You’re worth every hard goodbye.”
A tear rolls down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb, but another follows. And another.
“Shit.” She lets out a watery laugh. “I wasn’t gonna do this with you.”
“We said we’d be real.”
“This is too real.”
There’s a lump in my throat, jagged and cutting, that doesn’t allow for words. I just hold her tight, as if I can absorb her into my skin.
When Toni Braxton’s achy song, “Un-Break My Heart,” comes on, I move my lips to hers. A kiss steeped in grief, in heat, in something deeper. Something unnamed, unclaimed, but there.
I close the door and we undress each other without speaking. Our eyes and hands are louder than the silence. But it’s not rushed. Not wild. Not teasing. It’s just… us.
We fall to the bed, and I gather her beneath me, our arms and legs intertwined. When I slide inside her, it’s slow. Sacred. My whole body responds—my heart, my soul, every part of me she’s touched.
We move together. Our breaths are sighs. Our moans are like confessions. Her mouth finds mine, soft and open. When she comes, her body quivers, my name on her lips like a song I never want to end. It shreds me. I pour out my release, leaving a piece of myself inside her.
Shattered, we hold on to each other long after the tremors fade. Our cheeks pressed together, skin damp, tears shared in the dark.
“Don’t go,” she whispers. “Stay the night.”
She didn’t have to ask.
We catch snippets of sleep. Wake up. Make love again. Always holding on like we can stop time from tearing us apart.
But when the alarm sounds, it does.
Lot whips around, frantic and irritated. Not enough sleep and she forgot to pack some things under the bathroom sink. That jolts me out of my depressive thoughts and into action. I help her gather up the last-minute items. Charge her phone. I scramble an egg for Queenie—hiding the cat sedative—and load Lot’s bags into the trunk. Once the meds kick in, we get a stoned Queenie into the carrier, and I buckle her in the back seat for the long drive. Rayne slides behind the wheel, leaving Lot and me on the sidewalk.
“Don’t forget me,” she says, half teasing.
“Never.” And God knows I tried before. “Text when you land.”
“I will.” She looks up at me through her fringe of lashes. “Guess this is it, then.”
I don’t want it to be. But I don’t say that. Instead, I draw her to me, burying my face in her neck. She grabs on too. We’re both shaking. Christ, I’m gonna miss her so fucking much.
“We might have to count this down, Jones,” she whispers, trying to smile. “On three, we let go.”
“Make it ten.”
We hug harder while she counts. Slowly. At ten, we let go. Hell if I know how I managed it.
I open the car door for her. She kisses me. Quick. Final. Heartbreaking.
