The overwhelming panic has receded slightly, but I'm still worried. Celeste believes I'm strong enough to deal with whatever comes, but I'm not so sure. All of my instincts are pushing me to flee, to protect the little piece of my heart that's still intact.
Iwantto believe Jesse could feel the same way about me that I do about him. Iwant to believeI'm brave enough to take the risk, to lay it all on the line and trust that will work out. Iwant to believethat I could let myself enjoy a life with him without being constantly afraid that it could all be taken from me in one second.
But I'm not sure I'm as brave as Celeste thinks I am.
I just don't know if I can do this again.
Finally, I decide on a compromise of sorts. I'll keep my suitcase packed and ready. That way, if Jesse does break things off when he gets home, I won't have to torture myself trying to grab things to leave, I'll be able to walk out with at least a little dignity intact.
Maybe it's not the most brilliant plan, but it at least helps me feel less like I'm sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Chapter 14
Jesse
Iburst through the front door, my heart pounding with excitement. It’s late, but I couldn’t wait. I decided instead of calling or texting, I’d surprise Martin by just showing up and telling him what I realized tonight. “Martin!” I call out, unable to contain the joy bubbling up in my chest. “Martin, where are you? I need to talk to you!”
My eyes scan the living room, searching for him. That’s when I see it. A packed suitcase sitting by the door.
The words die in my throat. My stomach drops.What the hell is going on here?
“Martin?” I call again, more hesitantly.
He appears from the hallway, his face a mix of emotions I can’t read.
“Hi,” he says, and his expression is unreadable.
I can’t take my eyes off the bag. “What’s… what is this? What’s going on? Are you leaving?”
Martin follows my gaze, then looks back at me. He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’ve come to recognize as a sign of nervousness. “I… I don’t know. Maybe. I was thinking about it.”
“Thinking about it?” My voice is weirdly high pitched. “What the hell?Why?”
He takes a deep breath. “I just assumed, Jesse. Your dinner with Andrew, and I didn’t hear from you… I started thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.”
I step closer to him, my heart aching. “Martin, I—”
“No, let me finish,” he interrupts. “I’ve been so happy these past few weeks. Happier than I’ve been in years. And it's bloody terrifying. Because the last time I felt this way…”
“Richard,” I finish for him.
He nods, his eyes glistening. “I don’t know if I can go through that again, Jesse. I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”
I want to pull him into my arms, to tell him everything I realized during my dinner with Andrew. But I'm frozen, suddenly second-guessing everything I'd been so sure about only a few minutes ago.
I stare at Martin, my mind racing. He’s packed his bags. He’s ready to leave. Maybe I was wrong; maybe he doesn’t feel the same way about me that I do about him. I want to grab him, pull him into me, hold him tight and tell him everything I feel.
But the crushing doubt has me paralyzed. Again.Maybe he needs space. Maybe I pushed too hard.
“Martin,” I start, my voice wavering, “I… I didn’t know you felt this way. I thought...”Jesus fuck. I stand there gaping at him, mute with shock at how incredibly badly this is going.
Everything seemed perfectly clear during dinner. And then, I spent the entire flight home imagining this amazing, romantic scene. I'd rush in the door, Martin would be thrilled to see me, we’d kiss, and I’d tell him all the things figured out. I'd tell him how much I love him, and how I've been letting all my stupidinsecurities hold me back. I'd tell him that even though it seems fast, it doesn't matter, because I'm old enough to know what I want. And I want him. Forever. And just like that, we'd go on to live happily ever after. Or something like that.
Maybe I had it all wrong. Again.
His eyes widen slightly as I stand there, gawping at him like a fish, and a flash of something—hurt?—crosses his face before he quickly masks it.
“Maybe some space from each other would be best.” His voice is low, and he shifts his gaze away from me, down to the suitcase sitting on the floor.
