Page 224 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

He senses the games we usually play aren’t in motion and goes into the bathroom. I close my eyes, not wanting to hear my mother’s last words, but they’re stuck in my head and staking red flags. “We all end up alone, so don’t end up with nothing.”

I squeeze my lids tighter, wanting the words of warning to disappear, even if only for a little while.

The door to the bathroom opens, and I hear him pad across the Berber carpet. The bed dips, but all movement ceases after that. It’s so tempting to open my eyes and try to give comfort while seeking the same in his arms. I can’t do that, though, not right now. So I stay on my side of the mattress, not breaching the middle until he’s lying beside me doing the same.

Our breathing keeps us company until he whispers, “We’re breaking up, aren’t we?”

I open my eyes. His tone isn’t sad. It isn’t much of anything I can put my finger on, except maybe acceptance, which seems to own the look in his eyes as well. I think that hurts more. I’m not sure what happened between the gesture in the car and here in bed, but I know we both feel the difference.

I can’t lie to him, but my heart still feels intact. “I didn’t say that.”

“You haven’t said much of anything.”

“I haven’t cried either.” I suck in a staggering breath. “I’m doing the best I can to hold myself together.”

Offense colors his expression. “That’s not your job. It’s mine.”

“No,” I say, already shaking my head. “That’s what I used to need. That’s not your job anymore. You once said you’re not going to save me. I am going to save myself. I believed you, and more than that, I know you’re right. Please never doubt how much I love you, though.”

“Your dad had a heart attack, and you left. I had to find out both of those major pieces of information from Tealey.”

Slipping my hands under my cheek, I say, “I called. Twice.”

“You didn’t call when you landed. Isn’t that something you do for someone you love?”

“It was late, three hours later in New York.”

A humorless chuckle rustles through his chest. “Did you actually think I’d come home to an empty apartment and go to bed like you weren’t supposed to be lying next to me?” He glances at the canopy, but then his gaze lowers again, and he says, “Let me rephrase that. Did you think I’d carry on in life like my heart hadn’t gone missing?”

I hate myself for doing it, but even more for saying it out loud, but the truth has a basis for my actions. “I didn’t think about the consequences.”

“You didn’t think about me.”

“No. I was thinking about my dad and hoping he’d survive long enough for me to take a five-hour flight across the country just so I could tell him that I love him.” I look down, shame filling my entire being. “I’m supposed to be mad at him, and I still am. I’m still so hurt by what he did to me. But he’s my dad and the only one I have.”

Reaching over, he rubs my cheek and then moves closer to pull me into his arms. “You’re on shaky ground and feeling big emotions. I understand that it’s complicated?—”

“Complicated?” I tilt my head back to see him. “My love for you shouldn’t be in question.”

“It’s not.” His voice is calm despite the conversation. He stares straight at me, making me want to look away under the intensity. I don’t. I look at him and take it because however we leave this bed, together or broken up, I need to feel every second of what gets us there. “I don’t doubt your love for me. I don’t doubt your loyalty or commitment. I know you feel those things for me.”

“Then whatdoyou doubt, Jackson?”

“That you feel as strongly as I do.” He rolls away and onto his back, draping his forearm over his head. “You didn’t want a relationship, and I pushed it. You didn’t want to move in, and I insisted. You wanted to stand on your own two feet . . . Fuck.” He looks at me through the corners of his eyes. “I fucked it all up.”

“No, you didn’t.” I lift on my elbow, anchoring it into the mattress.

His arm lowers again. “Like I said, I don’t question your love for me. I question the timing. There’s a natural progression, a timeline of how things should be.”

Panic starts burning in my chest, so I say, “I wasn’t where you were, but I got there.”

The smallest of smiles is noticed, but then something else washes through him. “I need to tell you why I was mad yesterday.”

I fist the sheet to brace myself. I can’t lose him, or I’ll have nothing left.

Sitting up with his back to my padded headboard, he says, “I’m in?—”

My phone buzzes across the nightstand, causing me to look back over my shoulder. “It’s the hospital.” I glance back at him. “I need to take this.”

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