Page 35 of The Probability of Us

I whisper, “Then why did you tell me not to get on the plane? Why did you break up with me?”

“Because I knew if I held you in my arms again, I’d never be strong enough to let you go.”

I want to believe it. I want to trust it. But . . . “You weren’t there when I needed you most.” The words are soft, but they stop him in his tracks. Tears spring to my eyes thinking of all the pain I went through alone. “My mom died and then my dad became a drunk, and you were nowhere to be found.”

“You didn’t call me,” he chokes out. “You didn’t text me. No one told me. I didn’t know any of this happened until yesterday. If I knew—” His eyes are wild, and he runs his hands through his hair. “If IknewI would’ve been on the first flight back. I would’ve been here, and I would’ve made sure you didn’t feel alone for a single second.”

“I don’t understand.” I can’t breathe. “Why did you stay away if you felt that way?”

“After the day we broke up I never heard from you,” he says, his voice squeaking. “Not that it was your job to reach out, but I thought you would’ve heard from someone that there was a ring, that I still felt that way about you. I thought you knew all of that and hated me enough that you didn’t want to hear from me, so I forced myself to stay away. I never reached out because the only words I wanted to say to you were the four words I didn’t ask that day that I’ve regretted ever since. I never visited my mom because two hours wasn’t enough distance to keep me from driving to your door, dropping to my knees, and begging you to forgive me. Earlier in the week you asked me if I would’ve reached out if you didn’t work here, and I probably wouldn’t have because I thought that was what you wanted. But I also wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from going to Kallia in the mornings, or The Dizzy Acorn in the evenings, hoping to catch even a glimpse of you. And once I saw you, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from walking right up to you. From trying to figure out if there was any possibility of squeezing back into your life in any capacity. From trying to win you back and show you that I’m not the same person who left you all those years ago.”

“I didn’t know.” I can’t stop shaking my head. All of the words he’s just spoken rattle around and I keep waiting for them to form into sentences that make more sense, sentences that don’t make the past six years feel like a waste. “I didn’t know any of it. I always thought you didn’t reach out because you’d changed your mind. I thought you didn’t want me. I didn’t want to beg you to love me if you wanted to leave, and I didn’t want you to come back just because you felt sorry for me, so I didn’t reach out, even though you were the one person I wanted to talk to every day.”

He lets out a soft, sad laugh and looks up at the night sky. “I really fucked this up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.” The word just slips out, a whisper of a breath that brings so much pain to his face you’d think he’d just been shot. “You broke up with me by way of a thirty second phone call while I was at the airport waiting to board a flight to see you. I was heartbroken. I was humiliated. I was so confused how you could tell me you’d never leave me if you knew you had no intention of making things work.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he says forcefully and steps closer, taking my hand in his. The part of me that has been angry all these years screams at me to pull away, but it’s only a faint echo now, fading more and more with every word from his mouth. “God, no wonder you hated me if that’s what you thought. When I first decided to take the job, I didn’t know what to do. I was so in love with you, but I knew this was an opportunity I couldn’t turn down. I wanted to ask you to come with me so badly, but I psyched myself out with thoughts of my parents. So, then I thought, it’s okay, we love each other so much we’ll be able to make long-distance work until we figure something out. I needed to talk to you about it but all I ever wanted to say to you was that I wanted you to come with me, and I convinced myself I couldn’t ask you that or you’d end up hating me, so I just didn’t say anything. I wanted to make sure you knew that I still loved you in those months, but looking back it’s easy to see how it could be misinterpreted as using our attraction as a tactic to avoid talking about anything real.”

Silent tears drop down my cheeks. Back then I didn’t know what to think, because Ididfeel loved by him, but I couldn’t understand why he didn’t just talk to me or ask me to go with him. And I think a part of me was afraid that I wouldn’t like the answer, so I didn’t bring up my worries. In the end, we both stopped communicating in an effort to keep the relationship alive, but it’s what ended up ruining us instead.

“When I got to D.C,” he continues, and nothing could take my focus away from the words coming out of his mouth, “I missed you so much more than I ever could’ve imagined. The texting and phone calls weren’t enough, I wanted you in my arms. I knew that if you came to visit, I would beg you to stay. I went back and forth that whole day, and I called you so late because I couldn’t bring myself to do it before that. I forced the words out of my mouth, and I hung up right away because if I stayed on the line even a second longer, I would’ve taken it all back. I told myself I was doing the right thing, but every word felt so wrong. The last thing I ever wanted was to break up with you.”

“I wish you had just talked to me.” I close my eyes, so I don’t get distracted by the way the moonlight is adding the perfect sparkle to his glassy eyes. “I wish you had told me about the reason your parents divorced sooner. I wish you told me about the ring and your fears and your feelings. I wish . . . so many things.”

“Is it too late then?” His voice is small but full of emotions. “To have a second chance. To show you that I can do things right this time. To communicate. To be together.”

My eyes open and lock on his lips, then slowly drift up his face until I’m looking him dead in the eyes. I can feel the weight of my next words—they’ll be the tipping of the scales one way or the other. But I already know my answer, so I take a deep breath and say, “No, it’s not too late.”

That’s all it takes. With those words, all my anger is gone and all his restraint breaks. With two steps, the distance between us is gone and he’s crashing into me.

Or I’m crashing into him.

We’re colliding, lips desperately finding each other after years of being lost from each other. I’m too desperate to be anything but wild, my hands clawing at his chest, arms, then back—anything that will pull him closer to me. I want to melt into him. I want to become the liquid sunshine that he’s made of. I never want to be anywhere but in his arms again.

His hand slides into my hair as a buffer as he pushes me against the wall, hips pinning me in place as his tongue begins a long, slow exploration of my mouth while his other hand runs up my sides, around my waist, anywhere it can reach as he retraces the path they used to make on my body—remembering every inch he used to love so much.

My hands slowly find their way between his dress shirt and jacket, savoring the feel of his muscles with only the thin layer between skin. One of my hands wraps around to his back and when he kisses me particularly deeply, my nails gently run down his back causing him to groan into my mouth and kiss me deeper. My other hand doesn’t care that we’re on a public street and anyone could be watching as it starts to untuck his dress shirt from his pants and then slides up his bare chest. His hand tightens on my waist, and he must be remembering where we are too, because if we were anywhere else that hand would already be somewhere else—where I want it to be.

It’s enough for him to pull his lips from mine, but he rests his forehead against me as we both fight to suck in our next breath.

“Are you trying to ruin me?” he breathes.

I smile and run my hand down his chest. “Is it working?”

“You tell me,” he whispers as he rolls his hips against me and I can feel just how much he wants me, wantsthis.

“Mmm,” I purr. My eyes close and my body trembles with remembrance of everything good that comes after this. “That doesn’t feel like ruin.”

His voice is shaky when he asks, “Then what does it feel like?”

I kiss up his cheek until my lips are at his ear and whisper, “It feels like pleasure,” as I tug him even closer by the waistband of his pants.

He lets out a groan that shakes me down to my core and curses, “Fuck.”

Then his lips are back on mine, but his hands aren’t quite so restrained. One of his hands drifts between my legs and applies pressure over my pants exactly where I’m craving it. I moan and hold on tighter to him, so I don’t slip away.

“Are you just going to tease me with that beautiful mouth, or are you going to let me take you up to my room and give you all the pleasure you can take?” he asks against my lips.

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