His brow furrows. “What? Why?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Because the second I walk through that door, I’m going to cry, Jordan. And I don’t want you to see that.”
I’ve never been good at goodbyes. With my family, with patients. You’d think after making and leaving new friends every six to nine months I’d be a pro at it, but no. I simply care too much. And I care about Jordan the most of all.
This is going to be the most impossible goodbye of all, even if it’s temporary.
“Miles—”
“Please.” My voice cracks. “Please, let me do this, Jord.”I’m already hanging on by a thread.
His eyes go wide, and he focuses on the bag he was packing for us. He folds it over, his jaw tightening, like he’s fighting theurge to say something. I hate that I’m hurting him, but I never expected this. To feel this much when I came here. Or fall this fast. I knew I would eventually, if things went well. But dammit! I shouldn’t be in love with him already.
And it’s stupid to get so worked up, right? This isn’t even a goodbye! It’s just goodbyefor now.We’re going to see each other again someday.
We stand there for a moment, staring at each other like we can make this easier with sheer will. Then he crosses the room and pulls me into a hug so tight I feel it in my ribs. I clutch him back, burying my face in his neck. Grabbing his ponytail, I wrap his hair around my wrist one last time.
We hold on, our faces slowly drifting together. Our kiss is slow and full of everything we can’t fit into words.
“I’ll come back,” I whisper against his lips. “I don’t know when. Could be a couple weeks, or a couple months. But I will. I swear it.”
He nods, eyes shut, forehead resting against mine. “Call me the second you land, you hear? None of this giving each other a few days to recalibrate nonsense.”
Headlights flash in the window, slowing to a crawl near Jordan’s lot.
We both stop breathing.
I kiss him again, then once more before finally stepping back and reaching for my bag. I pause at the door to give Clematis a scratch, then turn to Jordan as I slip into my shoes. My voice is barely a whisper.
“Promise me you’ll hold on to every fucking anchor, Jordan.”
His throat works around the words. “I promise.”
I close the door behind me before I break.
Without looking at the driver, I slip into the backseat and rely on autopilot to direct him to the airport. My brain has checkedout, scattered amongst the white gravel and rows of potted plants.
I’m tempted to look back, but I don’t. I can’t.
It’s not goodbye, Miles.
A few stray tears roll down my cheeks, but I hastily wipe them away. Not yet. I’ll take a seat at the back of the plane, then quietly let it out before we land.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to only allow three hours before I have to be at work today. I’m going to be dead on my feet, let alone a mess. But I wouldn’t have traded that last night for anything. Or this weekend. As much as it hurts, I’m still glad I came.
I get to my airport terminal with only fifteen minutes to spare. Just enough time to sit and eat the food Jordan insisted I take. It’s crazy how alone I feel now. I’ve been doing this for seven years. I should be used to it. Better at the isolation, even in a crowd.
But this loneliness is different.
I dig the heel of my palm against my breastbone, trying to scoop out some of the pain.It’s only temporary!
Sucking in a shaky breath, I pull my phone out to scroll through the dozen or so pictures I took the other night at Sunset Cliffs. What strikes me is how different we are physically, to the point it’s almost comical. With Jordan’s long dark hair and tanned complexion, next to my messy blond locks and pale skin. His slim frame to my… not. Yet we fit. In every good and possible way, this trip proved that Jordan and I fit together.
It eases some of the ache.
I zoom in on the full-frame photo of Jordan and I together, noticing for the first time how his eyes are on me, not the camera. It makes me smile. He’s so in tune with me, always paying attention.
I send Jordan a few of the pictures.
