My words have hit their mark. Like a deflating balloon, Noah’s excitement shrinks before my eyes.
“I’ll keep a permanent place in Atlanta. The coach said there’s a building a lot of the players live in.” His voice is smaller now. Crestfallen. “I don't want this to be over.” He tucks my hair back behind my ear, his fingers trailing down my neck.
“I know.” My voice trembles with the tears I’m holding back. “But I don’t want to give us half a shot. I move across the country to be with you, and then you travel all the time? We can’t fail again. I won’t be able to stand having us not work out a second time.” Does he understand how much I need to preserve him, even now? I love him far too much to stain us a second time. “It sounds romantic and audacious, and it would make a great story, but the reality is different. I was right the last time, Noah. We fell apart, and we were just kids. I don’t want to know what it’s like to fall apart as adults.”
We both hear the phone buzzing in his pocket.
“You better go.” I hate the words as I say them.
“We can still go to the lake. The day doesn’t have to be over. I don’t have to go back until tomorrow.”
How easy it would be to continue this game, pretend like each kiss, each touch, each look, isn’t one of the last. “No,” I say. My voice is low in volume, but strong.
Noah pulls his hand back from my neck, and the air that replaces his touch singes me. He steps away from the counter, his hips pulling away from their spot between my knees.
Our eyes locked, he offers me a hand getting down. Ignoring it, I hop down on my own. He walks to my room and emerges a moment later with his wallet and jacket.
Neither of us speaks. Words are too much right now. Like the first time we parted ways, we might make well-intentioned promises that can never be kept. This time, we’re leaving it good. On our terms.
I follow Noah to the foyer, my eyes on his light brown hair, his strong neck, the way it flows seamlessly into broad shoulders, curving in to a chiseled torso. I’m committing his body to memory, filled with the knowledge this will probably be the last time I see it.
He pulls open the front door, pausing at the threshold. When he turns to me, his eyes hold sadness. My own are tightening, the burn of tears threatening. This is where Noah should kiss me once, gently, a soft good-bye kiss.
That’s not what he does.
Wrapping one hand around my back, he tugs me into him. His other hand wraps around the back of my neck, and his lips find mine. I hold onto him for dear life as our kiss deepens, him trying to fight the circumstance, and me desperate for just one more minute with him.
He finally drags his lips from mine, but he doesn't move further than an inch away. His ragged breath blends with mine, and together we create a palpable thickness.
With eyes that scream for rebellion against our choice, he turns and leaves. Unmoving, I watch him go. When his car disappears past the line of trees, I whisper my thoughts out into the evergreens.
I’m sorry.
I already miss you.
This may have been a mistake.
Stay and we’ll do things right this time.
* * *
Noah has been goneten seconds and I’m already losing it. Sky isn’t here, so I text Dayton.
Pieces of me are scattered everywhere.
A moment later, he responds.
I’m on my way.
I don’t have to wait long. Dayton makes it in record time.
“Baby girl,” he says, descending upon me the second I pull back the front door. Putting my hands up, I fend him off, but he gives me a reproachful look. “I know you need a hug.”
“I’m okay.” I try to sound strong when all I feel is weak.
Dayton ignores my protest and pulls me to his chest. We’re almost the same height, so he turns his face to me and smells my neck.
“You smell like sex.” He takes one more, longer sniff, and I feel the air move across my skin. “And regret.”
