I clench my jaw, emotion filling my throat and sinuses, and nod.
“I’ll be fine.”
I nod again, hating that a single tear’s managed to escape my eye. “How…how will I know?”
“What?”
“How will I know you’re okay? How will… What if…”
Another tear slips out. This one he swipes gently with his thumb.
“I… Fuck.”
I almost eke out a laugh at that, but can’t quite force it that last inch from my mouth.
“I’ll keep in touch.”
A shaky breath escapes me as I imagine the check-ins. “I’m alive!” they’ll say. Texts or emails or whatever he can manage from out in the middle of the ocean.
“I, um, I… I haven’t sold this place yet.”
I sniffle. “Okay.”
“So, I might have to come back. I know you said you didn’t want me to?—”
“It’s fine.” I say, relief pouring through me, warm as whiskey. “It’s fine.”
“Yeah?”
I nod and lean toward him, wanting a kiss more than my next breath, but so scared of the pain. Instead of pressing my lips to his, I veer to the side and kiss his cheek, then his shoulder, and give him my back, the way I’ve done these many nights. He’ll wrap me up in his body and hold me tight and we can both pretend this isn’t ending in a few days.
We can pretend it’s something it’s not.
Except, as I fall asleep, with his face tucked into the crook of my neck, I’m not sure what exactly it is anymore and what part of it is pretend.
I wake up in the dark, hours later, crying, which hasn’t happened in ages. And it’s not a few tears, it’s the deep, wracking, internal pain kind of crying that will absolutely turn to ugly sobs.
The dream wasn’t about Clark. Or the baby I miscarried in my twenties. It’s not about a car wreck, which is what I dreamed about on bad nights for most of my life after my parents died. It was Jake. Just Jake. And me. Andourbaby.
And we were happy.
Just stay, I’ve wanted to tell him a million times over the past few days. At the restaurant, when he brought me my third-to-last piece of Jake cake and I almost lost it right there in front of Cora’s knowing gaze. That night I knocked on his door and he opened it and I fell into his hug like I belonged there. Last night, when he spooned me and whispered how beautiful I was, right against my ear, and all I wanted—the only thing in the world—was to turn and kiss him, but I know,I know, the pain isn’t something I’ll get over.
I’m here now, crying from that dream and I realize my error.
It’s too late.
I’ll never get over this. Him. Never.
I love him not just with my body and my head, but with the deepest, realest part of me. A part I’ve tried hard to protect since losing my parents as a confused kid.
What happened with Clark—the way I thought I loved him? That was surface only. It was an easy love. Forgettable.
But those packed bags by Jake’s front door last night, ready and waiting? The second I saw them, something shifted.
Oh, god. I’ve got to get out of this bed. I’ve got to go.
Now.
