Page 98 of When We Met

I look down at the box in my hand. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

Kacy shrugs. “I know, but I did.”

Carefully I peel back the meticulously wrapped paper to find a titanium flask with the engraving of:I drink because I have kids. Don’t ask questions.

I smile. “It’s perfect.”

By the look on her face, I wonder if she’s ever given anyone a gift before. One she picked out. Not one her mother chose for her.

As I stare at the flask in my hand, I’m reminded that I don’t want to let her go. She could stay, right? But then what happens when she decides this town is too small for her? What happens when I’m working eighty-hour weeks and she feels neglected?

Easier said than done.

KACY

The day after Christmas, I stare up at the ceiling in Barron’s room, praying to get lost and never surface in anything other than the feeling of his hands gripping my hips. But as we lay here this morning, I realize my expiration date has come.

I roll over and look at Barron. He’s staring at the ceiling, his breathing light and steady, thoughts held hostage like his words.

I run my hand through his hair and force him to look at me. “Are you okay?”

He nods but doesn’t say anything.

My eyes drift to his chest and the light dusting of hair. Curling into his side, I worm myself into his embrace. “I should get going soon.”

He lifts his arm and wraps it around me, his lips pressing to my temple. “I never said you had to leave.”

“I know… but I think I need to. Give you some space. I think I need to experience some time alone.” I turn my head and prop myself up on my elbow. “I’ve never been alone. I’ve lived on my own and been single, but I’ve never experienced an open road with no obligations. I’ve never… known me.”

He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes tender. “Then you should do that. For you.”

My heart pounds in my chest. Am I making the right decision? I remember, briefly, the mornings we spent skin-to-skin in this very room, laughing, living for moments and memories that only we knew as he moved above me with reverent curses and parted lips. The way he would gaze down at me with a heated expression, the feel of my fingertips meeting his hard muscles, begging him not to stop, and knowing he held every string of my heart, even though it was all temporary.

His gaze returns to me, but he says nothing, at least not with words. My face is suddenly between his palms, so close to his own. His fingers are electric on my skin, the sensations calming yet terrifying. His lips barely touch my own as he presses his weight to mine

He buries his face in my neck, and then he presses his mouth to mine, hard. He’s kissing me desperately, filling my mouth with everything we aren’t saying to one another. I let this be our goodbye. I do that because this is easier than words.

When he drops his forehead to mine, our kiss breaks, and he keeps his eyes closed, sliding inside me. Barron exhales in the next second, releasing a moan into my mouth. Pulling out, he thrusts back inside of me again, this time harder. He lifts his head and looks down at me, and I see it. Love. It’s clear as day, a man busting at the seams, ready to tell the girl beneath him he loves her, but the words are held hostage.

He won’t let them out, and I know why. It finally makes sense. If he asks me to stay, the situation is like him and Tara. He’s afraid if he asks, and I do, I’ll resent him.

I wouldn’t, not ever, but that’s not something you can easily tell a man who’s been burned before.

I wrap my hands around the back of his head and bring his mouth to mine. Arching my back, I widen my legs and allow him to slide inside me deeper, needing this just as bad as he does. He moans into my mouth, fucking me harder.

Placing his palms flat on the mattress, he creates distance, staring down at me.

“Harder,” I beg, needing this to be just that. I don’t want to see the love in his eyes because it will only hurt more to leave.

He pushes harder. And that’s how we fall apart. Together. It’s not pretty, but falling never is. It always leaves you bloody and bruised.

When he’s motionless above me, I wrap my arms around him, savoring the seconds when our bodies are sedated, and words aren’t needed. If I had my journal nearby, I’d write:

I’m not ready for the end

We’ve only just began

Will my heart ever mend?

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