"It's okay. Really." I slide off his lap, putting distance between us. My legs feel shaky. "I know you're not there yet. I'm not trying to pressure you. I just..."
I can't finish. Don't know what I'm trying to say.
He reaches for me. I let him pull me back against his chest, but it feels different now. There's a hollow space where the words should be. A silence that echoes.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs into my hair.
"Don't be." I force brightness into my tone. "I meant it. I love you. That requires nothing from you."
Liar. I want everything from him. I want him to say it back, want him to stay, want him to choose me over Boston and his career and all the logical reasons he should leave.
But I can't ask for that. I won't.
His arms tighten around me. "Lucy, I—"
"It's okay," I say again. If I say it enough times, maybe it will become true. "Really. I promise."
We sit in the heavy quiet, holding each other. I try not to feel the absence of words. Try not to notice how carefully he's breathing, like he's afraid I'll shatter.
Maybe I will.
"Stay?" he asks finally. Voice rough. "Tonight?"
I should say no. Should go back to my room, put space between us until this ache in my chest fades.
But I nod against his shoulder. "Yeah. I'll stay."
We move to the bed together, a tangle of limbs and unspoken feelings. He makes love to me slowly. Tenderly. Like I'm something precious he's afraid to break. His hands map my body with reverence, his mouth following. He whispers my name like a prayer, over and over, until it's the only word I hear.
I try not to cry.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, his heartbeat slowing beneath my palm. He holds me tighter than usual, face buried in my hair. I keep my breathing even, pretending to drift off even as my mind races.
I love you, I told him. Three words I've never said to anyone outside my family. Three words that felt inevitable and terrifying and true.
And he couldn't say them back.
I understand why. He's leaving soon. Long distance is hard. He doesn't want to make promises he can't keep. Maybe he thinks not saying it will hurt less when he goes.
Or maybe he just doesn't feel it.
That thought makes my chest ache worse than anything.
His breathing evens out. Sleep claims him, but his arms stay locked around me. Like even unconscious, he's afraid I'll leave.
I won't.
I trace patterns on his chest, memorizing this. The weight of him beside me. The way our bodies fit. The sound of his breathing, deep and steady.
I love you, I think at him. I love you, and it's okay that you can't say it back. I can love you enough for both of us.
But lying in the dark, wrapped in his arms, I'm not sure that's true.
Sleep comes eventually, fitful and uneasy. When I wake, sunlight is streaming through the window and Ryder's lips are on my shoulder.
"Merry Christmas," he murmurs against my skin.
I stretch, smiling despite the lingering ache in my chest. "What time is it?"
