I was sixteen when I experienced my first big loss. My grandpa had a stroke and died. It was unexpected and we were all in shock. My dad didn’t talk for an entire day after he found out. I was devastated. Nobody I knew had ever died before. The thought that he’d never call me on Sunday night to hear about my week and what I had planned for the next was almost incomprehensible. How could someone be there one minute and not the next? The finality of it, knowing I would go back in time and do whatever I had to do to hear his voice one more time, to have another week of it, broke me in a way that even after I healed, I was never the same.
And here with Nate, I feel a new crack breaking me apart.
“Maybe you could come too?” The tears are falling faster. I can’t get ahold of them. “Or we could do long-distance. It won’t be like the last time I left. I’ll come home more.”
He looks at me with a sad smile and I know what he’s thinking before he says it.
“Me with my love of khakis and sweater-vests in California? You know that wouldn’t work.” His laugh is hollow, but I can’t find it in myself to even try. “I know you’ll come back and I’ll be waiting at your parents’ house, but then you’ll leave again. Your dreams are in Los Angeles. I’ve seen firsthand what happens when someone tries to stand in the way. I refuse to do that to you.”
His mom.
I cry harder. My chest aches. The sobs feel as if they’re being pulled from the bottom of my soul.
“You knew I’d hurt you.” White-hot memories flash bright in my mind. This is why he stopped talking to me all those years ago. He was afraid I’d hurt him just like his mom did, running away from home to chase far-off goals. I clawed my way back into his life only to do the exact thing he was afraid I’d do.
I struggle to breathe as guilt like I’ve never known before ensnares me in its grip. I feel dizzy with regret as I process the mess I’ve made. The damage I’ve done.
I bury my face in my hands. I can’t look at him.
I can’t let him see me.
“Collins.” His voice is muffled like I’m underwater. Before I know what’s happening, his arms are wrapped around me and he pulls me off the stool. The same stool where things began . . . where they’re ending.
He carries me up the stairs and I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him as I cry into his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know what else to say. I want to tell him I love him, that I might have always loved him, but it feels cruel. Too much hope lives in those words and this feels hopeless.
“Please look at me,” he whispers, his voice soft but his tone firm.
It takes a moment for me to garner enough control to stop crying long enough to give him at least that.
I focus all my attention on the man in front of me, the man I loved even when I hated him. The intensity staring back at me from hazel eyes steals my breath away.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. You are going to go back to California and you’re going to do what you always said you would do. You’re going to write shows and win awards and I’m going to be right here watching, telling everyone I know that I beat you in the race for the HOA.”
I don’t want to laugh, but I can’t help it.
“You don’t know if you won yet.” My hoarse voice is almost unrecognizable.
“Trust me,” he says. “I won.”
“I don’t think you’re talking about the HOA anymore.”
“I’m not.” He brings his mouth closer to mine, so close that I swear I can feel it. “Yes, you’re going to California. But we never know what tomorrow is going to bring and we don’t need to.”
My breathing deepens, my chest rising and falling a little faster as I struggle to keep my eyes open. I try to imprint every second into my mind. I don’t want to forget any of this.
“We don’t?”
“We don’t.” He shakes his head and I watch as his hazel eyes turn black. “We have right now and it’s up to us to make sure every moment counts. If we do it right, tonight can last forever.”
I fight back a fresh wave of tears.
When his mouth touches mine this time, it’s different. Our full lips press together, no longer exploring, just feeling. There’s no rush, no frantic energy as our tongues tangle together while his hands hold me tight. We take our time.
It’s a slow burn gradually building with every graze of his fingertips, every brush of his lips.
When he lays me down on his bed, he doesn’t make a move. He stares down at me, his eyes lighting a fire as they drift down my body.
“Perfect,” he whispers, finally letting his hands follow the path his gaze forged into my skin.
By the time he puts his mouth on me, I nearly combust.
I can’t watch anymore. The sight of his head between my thighs is too much. I’m not ready for it. I close my eyes and push him away. I try to fight it as my stomach tightens and my back arches off the bed, but it’s no use.
Because even with my eyes closed, he’s all I can see.
Pleasure has never hurt so good. It rips through me, tearing me apart from the inside out and taking my heart along with it.
Nobody’s ever touched me the way Nathanial Adams touches me. Nobody’s ever looked at me the way he looks at me. As the final waves rock through me, I’m worried nobody else ever will.
And then, just when I thought it was impossible, the tears begin to fall again.
Chapter 29
Whoever said it’s always sunny in Southern California clearly didn’t account for the smog.
The dry heat feels oppressive and I yearn for the humidity I thought I hated. Everything I missed about Los Angeles has been less sparkly since I’ve been back. It’s been the longest month ever.
I miss my parents, I miss my friends, and I really fucking miss Nate.
Not one night has gone by without me dreaming of the last night we spent together. I wake up thinking of his eyes and fall asleep trying to conjure the feel of his touch. I’ve dialed his number so many times that I’ve lost count, yet I still haven’t called.
Peter let me move back into our apartment and is staying with a friend until I figure things out. It’s smaller than I remember and I miss the comfort of my room back home. The king mattress is too big after sleeping in my twin bed. The coffee shop around the corner I used to go to every day isn’t as good either. The plants on the patio are a sad excuse for a garden next to my dad’s and the neighbor who made me go viral is a downright disgrace compared to my MLM queen, Ashleigh.
But I’ve been trying to tell myself that’s not why I moved back here.
When I came to LA as a bright-eyed, slightly-less-jaded eighteen-year-old, I didn’t come to make friends or sit around drinking lattes all day. I came because I’m a writer, and as cheesy as it sounds, I want to share my stories with the world. I’m finally getting the opportunity to do it and I can’t let some boy from my hometown be the reason I lose focus.
My phone buzzes and just like it has since I stepped foot in the airport, my traitorous heart leaps at the chance that I might see Nate’s name on the screen and then breaks all over again when I don’t.