A poem forms in my head somewhere between awake and asleep.
And with Miles breathing steadily beside me, his hand still resting over my heart, I let the words carry me under.
16
MILES
My arms and chest are deadweight when I open my eyes. I struggle to move, unwilling to accept reality. Our last night together went by too fast.
I glance at my phone. 3:30 a.m. Which means I have exactly an hour and a half until I need to be at the airport. Even less until I need to leave.
The room is completely silent, aside from Jordan’s soft breathing. He’s on his back with his head turned toward me. His face is relaxed in sleep, so at peace.
So incredibly beautiful.
I brush a knuckle across his cheek. I could let him sleep a little longer, but I don’t want to. Not right now. Not when every second feels borrowed.
I kiss him softly, then again, slower this time. He stirs beneath me, eyes blinking open, and when they meet mine in the dim light, there’s no confusion.
“Touch me,” I whisper.
I cup his face, kissing him again. Reverently.
“Please, Jordan. I don’t need sex. I just need your hands on me.”
He rolls to his side, pulling me close. I watch his face, wanting to memorize it—every sound, every shiver, the way he holds my gaze. It’s exactly what I need.
Jordan leans in, kissing me deeply. Our touch changes from sensual to hungry in a heartbeat, and I pull him on top of me. He rocks his hips, trying to get closer, then supports his weight as he stares down at me. I pull him in for a kiss, wrapping one leg around him as I build to a climax. He moves slowly, his pressure firm.
When my orgasm comes, he drinks down my cry of relief, before sliding his arms under me. We roll to our sides, holding each other in pained silence for five minutes. I’m pushing my luck with the clock, but I don’t care.
Finally, Jordan pulls away and swiftly climbs out of bed. “Go shower.”
A few seconds later, the warm water is both a comfort and a countdown. I press my palms to the tile wall and let the truth of this moment settle like a weight on my back.
I have to leave Jordan, and I don’t want to. How am I going to say goodbye?
When I come out fully dressed with my bag in one hand, Jordan is in shorts and a tank top, hair brushed and tied back into a ponytail. He’s in the kitchen, packing a brown paper bag with some muffins and a banana. Simple, but perfect.
And completely unnecessary.
He’s moving with robotic precision, like if he slows down even a little, he’ll fall apart.
And suddenly, I can’t breathe.
What if this breaks him? What if me leaving sends him back into that dark place? Back to that moment when—no. Fuck, I can’t think like that.
I grip the counter as my heart thuds hard in my chest. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper. I can’t cry now. I can’t. I can’t lose it in front of him.
I feel helpless, knowing I am causing him pain yet incapable of carrying it. I’d whisk it away if I could, but I can’t. He needs to be the one who manages it. But will he? Or will he let darkness consume him?
Will his anchors be enough?
Jordan glances up with a tight-lipped smile that looks fragile.Forced.
“Shoes,” he says, nodding toward the door. “We need to go.”
I shake my head. “I… I ordered a Lyft.”
