I stand tall, my shoulders square, and in this moment, I realize everything I just said is true. This place has changed me. The people in this town were a huge part of that. And not only did they change me—how I look at things, how I look at other people—they also made me realize how empty my life was before. How hard it’s going to be to go back to it, step into my old life, and not miss all of this.
“You’re right . . .” He takes a step toward me, and all I can do is shake my head and take a step back. “You’re not the same person who set foot here. And I’m not the same man you met. People change. Minds change. Sometimes it takes longer for a heart to forget what was done to it in the past. I guess it’s taking mine longer than most.”
I love him. It’s plain as day to me as I stand here livid with him for telling me I’m just like Claire while at the same time being man enough to admit it.
“But how long is too long to wait?” I ask him, knowing that if he isn’t over her in eight years’ time, when will he be? “There comes a time when you have to choose whether you’re going to remain rooted to your past and the things she did to you, or to take a step forward with a clean slate. You always have a choice, Grayson. What do you choose?”
Choose me.
“It isn’t like that.”
Choose me.
“It isn’t? You tell me that I made a mistake and you’ve forgiven me, but with that one mistake, you’ve already talked yourself out of believing this could work before we ever had a chance.” There is defiance and accusation and desperation in my tone. He has to see what he’s doing, that he is so scared of possibly getting hurt that he’s shut himself away from so much of the good in life as well.
I love you.
Don’t you see that?
Why can’t you see that?
“I’ve already asked one woman in my life to stay—the only other woman I’ve ever let in—and look how that turned out for me. So, I’ll be damned if I ask you, too.”
“I’m not looking for you to ask me to stay. I’m looking to hear you tell me that you want me to.”
“Same difference.”
He’s so frustrating it’s maddening. “That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? You’ll never be over her, and I refuse to take second place.”
“I was over her the minute she walked out my door,” he says through gritted teeth.
“You were? It doesn’t seem that way from where I stand.”
“Really? I told you I wanted to try for something here. For us to figure this out . . . and you lied. How does that not make you like her?”
I stare at him, sick to my stomach and more than knowing I’m in an uphill battle that I don’t think I can win. When I walked into this hangar tonight, I was still one hundred percent undecided I wanted to fight for him.
But I’m fighting.
Because, with him standing in front of me, I know.
It’s just that simple.
“I never lied to you! I just didn’t tell you because I was scared!” I scream, frustrated at him and his fear and how he’s throwing everything but the kitchen sink into this fight to push me away. To paint me in a bad light so that he can walk away with less guilt. “I was scared to tell you and lose you, but it seems like I already have. Just like you’re scared to fight to keep me because you might have to open yourself up to letting someone in. Well, guess what? The possibility of getting hurt is always part of the equation. Always. But so is being loved and cherished and fulfilled. Those are the things you don’t ever talk about or focus on. The late-night calls just to say I love you. The early morning looks over coffee. The knowing you have a friend to sit with you in silence after you’ve had an absolutely shitty day. Those are the things you’re forgetting. Those are the things you’re ‘protecting’ Luke from seeing. What you don’t realize is that when he grows up, he will have no idea what is normal and fulfilling. So, you can keep being scared because, damn you, Grayson . . . you scare the hell out of me, too.”
I pound my fist on the railing because I have so much pent-up emotion, and I’m so mad at him that it’s either that or grab him and kiss him. The latter of which, I don’t want to do. “You take risks every damn day in your job—you’ve made a name for yourself doing it—and yet, you won’t take a goddamn risk on me, will you?”
“It isn’t that easy, Sidney.”
“The best things in life never are easy. You have to work at them and struggle with them just to make them work, but that’s the best reward . . . that you didn’t give up and it netted you something beautiful. We could be beautiful.” I’ve never pleaded in my life, but I’m doing it now. I need to hear him tell me he’ll try. That I’m worth the risk. That he wants me to stay. “I love you, damn it, and I don’t have a fucking clue what to do about it other than to ask you to choose me. To tell me I’m worth the risk.”
Every part of him freezes as every single part of me dies inside.
“I don’t know that I can,” he murmurs. His eyes well, and he blinks the moisture away before turning his back and walking to the edge of the space.
“I never looked for this. I never meant to fall in love with you . . . but I did, and I can’t stop it, and nothing you can say to me can stop it . . .” I hiccup a huge sob.
Ask me. Choose me. Fight for me.
“Sidney . . .”
“It’s okay.” I shake my head as I take a step back, and he turns to face me. “It’s just as shocking to me as it is to you. I have a heart. Who knew?” I say through another hysterical sob.
He takes a step forward, and as much as I tell myself to run as far away from him as possible to protect my heart because he hasn’t given me an inkling of hope, I don’t move.
Not when he frames the sides of my face with his hands.
Choose me.
His lips press kisses against the tracks my tears have left.
His lips meet mine in the sweetest of ways.
Choose me.
Then his hands remain on my cheeks, his forehead rests on mine, and his breath feathers over my lips.
“I’m fucked up, Sidney. And I’m going to keep fucking up. I’m man enough to admit my pride is in the way and I need to sort it out. I need to fix myself or else it isn’t fair to drag you into my life more than I have. It isn’t right for me to attach blame to you when you don’t deserve it. I thought I’d gotten over what she’d done . . . and then your first fuck-up, I call you her name. That isn’t fair to you.” He kisses me oh so softly as my tears fall. “I love you. I think that’s why I fought you so hard. All along, I knew I would fall, and yet, I can’t ask you to stay. I can’t tell you I’ll be perfect. I can’t give you the things that you need to thrive. I have to let you go. It’s going to fucking kill me, but I can’t hold you back here. I can’t clip your wings.”
Ask me to stay.
My shoulders shudder as I fight back the sobs. This tenderness—his tenderness—is too much when I feel like this is our goodbye. I thought I had two more weeks to prepare for this. I thought I’d be able to change his mind even though my mind hadn’t been made up yet.
It is now.
And now he’s pushing me away.
“You deserve so much more than I can give you, Princess.”
For whatever reason, that term—the one he’s always used as a dig but is now used as an endearment—undoes me, makes my bottom lip quiver.
But I want you.
Makes tears fall harder.
“Once you step away from here . . . once you go back to your city and your sidewalks and your nightlife, you’ll see that you missed it all. You’ll know that you’d be settling if you stay here. And you . . . I don’t want you ever to settle.”
My lips find his again. My hands need to touch him. My body needs to feel his against mine—in mine . . . one last time.
Because this is goodbye.
I know it. It’s inevitable.
He knows it. I can feel it in his touch.
Choose me.
So, we ma
ke love on the balcony. We make love in the moonlight. We whisper apologies. We groan sweet nothings. But we make no promises.
And later, when he walks me to my car as I fight back the tears, and he presses yet another bittersweet kiss onto my lips, I know this is over.
I could fight. For him. For us. For more. But unless he wants to fight, too, it’s useless.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe I’m so caught up in the moment I’ve lost sight of everything else.
Maybe he’s right and I’m wrong.
And that’s what hurts the most.
“Hold up. What’s going on here?” Rissa asks and props her hands on her hips as her eyes narrow on the half-filled cardboard box on my desk.
“Just packing up.”
“You’re really leaving, just like that?”
The tone of her voice has nothing on the stabbing pains I feel everywhere in my body and my tear ducts that have run dry.
“Not just like that.” I fake indifference. “The contest has one week left. I’m going to head back and facilitate some final PR stuff from the main office. I’ll have more help there, people with better connections, etcetera.”
“The same kind of people you can pick up a phone from here and ask for the same kind of thing? Those kind of people, right?”
I don’t answer her, and I don’t try to pretend that I don’t hear the anger in her voice. She deserves to be mad at me. I’m bailing on her because I can’t handle being in this town another day knowing Grayson is somewhere close. Knowing that he’s pushing me away and I don’t know how else to fight.
“Yeah. That kind of people.”
“I love you, honey, but I call bullshit. Are you really going to tuck that pretty little tail of yours between your legs and run away without a fight?”
“I did fight, Rissa. I tried. You can’t make someone love you in return.”
I love you, Sidney. I can hear his voice. I can feel his lips. I can feel his love.
And yet . . . he won’t ask me to stay.
“He loves you, all right. He’s just scared,” she says, and I whip my eyes up to look at her. “Anyone who has ever been within a ten-foot radius of the two of you has seen it. Why do you think rumors still fly even though you two go through painful steps to look like you’re not seeing each other? Hell, just the way he walks by here and then stands in front of that window, waiting for you to look his way for a whole five seconds’ worth of eye-fucking tells me all I need to know.”
“Well.” I cough out the word, a little surprised by her vernacular. I’m also vaguely saddened that it’s obvious to everyone else how Grayson feels about me but he can’t see it himself.
Correction. He can see it. He just doesn’t want to believe it.
“So, that’s it? The girl who came here with the determination to do whatever it took to fulfill herself professionally and win the Haute job is just going to lie down without a fight and not fulfill herself personally?”
I look out the window she was just referring to and blink away tears. It’s been two days since I’ve seen Grayson. The bittersweet last kiss still burns on my lips. The feel of his arms around me still makes me want more. Yet, he made it very clear that I wasn’t fulfilling any personal wants with him.
“He thinks I only want to stay here because I’m here. That once the idea settles, then I’ll want out, and if I want out—”
“Then he’ll be the one in the crosshairs to get hurt again.” She shrugs. “This town does have a way of being all-consuming. Everyone is everywhere, and so you kind of eat, breathe, and live it.”
I’m not ready to hear her say that. I’m not ready to hear anyone tell me that Grayson might be right.
“I think I just need a bit of space, Riss. I need some clarity. I’m wondering if being here made my world that much smaller and, in turn, my feelings for him that much stronger. Did I put up with being on the down low because I wanted to be, or because I’m so removed from my real life that I compromised what I deserve?”
Even as I say it, I know it’s just another excuse to soothe my bruised heart.
She chews her lip as she stares at me. “How about: this whole contest thing screwed with perspective and made you have to be incognito together, and maybe you should stick around till after it to see what happens between you then?”
“Perhaps.”
“But you aren’t going to stay, are you?”
“There were never plans made for me to stick around after the contest.”
“There never was a Grayson in the picture either.”
I sigh, hold her gaze, and see the disappointment in her eyes. “I’m going to go home for a bit. Gain that distance. Then I’ll be back for the party you planned.”
“How did you know about that?” She at least has the decency to look shocked that I know.
“Seriously? This is Sunnyville. Should I assume you’re having a party here in Sunnyville and have invited all of the final five because you’ve acquiesced and know that Grayson is going to win so you want him to be in front of his hometown crowd?”
Even after all of this, I still want him to win.
She quirks a brow. “The party is for everyone and is nearby because of the office . . . and maybe to thank the townspeople for all of their support—”
“Sounds a little biased to me.” I wink and smile as best as I can.
“Maybe it is, but that man . . . he’s a trophy all in and of himself. Besides, why would you think he’s going to win? Have you peeked at the stats?”
“I haven’t had time to.” It’s a partial truth. I haven’t looked at the numbers in a few days—since our hangar date to be exact—because I was trying to gain a bit of distance for my heart’s sake. The last time I did though, Grayson was well in the lead, but things could have changed.
“Good. I’ll change your password then so you can’t look.”
“What?” I say through a laugh.
“Then at least I know you’ll be curious and still come back for the reveal.”
“Sneaky bitch.”
“And you still love me.”
“I do.” The room falls silent as I realize this is goodbye. For now. “I just want to say thank you for all of your help. You could have been a royal bitch and pegged me as a nepotism queen and made things difficult.”
“You were the nepotism queen, but then you worked your ass off and proved to me and everyone else in this office that you know what you’re doing. I’m proud of you, and I’ll make sure to let your father know.” I nod in thanks. “And, uh, remember to never forget the little people.” She winks. “I’ll be waiting for that phone call to be your junior editor.”
She grabs me in a hug, and I just hold on tight. She’s been so much more than just a coworker to me over the past few months, and I know I’m going to miss her.
“Hey, buddy.” Luke startles as he looks at me and then back to everyone sitting at the lunch tables and then back to me.
“Did I do something wrong? Is my dad okay? Why are you here?”
“Everything is fine,” I tell him with a reassuring smile. “I just wanted to stop by and let you know I’m heading out for a while.”
His expression falls, taking every part of me with it. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
“Just for a week,” I enthuse. “I’ll be back for the big party they are throwing for your dad, but I, uh, didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye or getting a hug from you.”
He stares at me, chin quivering, and I realize what a mistake this was. There is so much I don’t know about parenting. Maybe Grayson was right . . . this would never work. I should have waited until after school and told him when he didn’t have friends around. When he didn’t have to pretend to be cool while I told him I was leaving him. When I could hug him and not embarrass him in front of his classmates.
“Yeah, sure,” he says. Simple words but both of them waver when he says them.
“I brought you something, but you have t
o promise not to open it until you get home.”
“You brought me something? Like a present?”
More like something to remember me by.
“Yes, like a present.” I pick up the bag sitting beside me on the bench and slide it across the table. His eyes widen with each inch closer that it gets, and the other boys at the table turn to watch. “But you can’t open it now. The last thing you want is for your teacher to take it away from you before you even get a chance to see it.”
“I promise, Miss Sidney, I won’t.”
He holds my gaze and nods, so much in his little eyes that I hate to add to it by leaving.
By leaving him, the one Malone who I know has fought for me.
I fight back the tears that threaten, and wave him over to my side. “I have to get going and you have to eat your lunch. Is it too uncool for you to give me a hug?” I ask, praying that he’s okay with it because I can’t go without getting one.
Even if it’s to assuage my own guilt.
“Of course not,” he says and winks. “I’ll just tell them all you’re my girlfriend.”
This kid. I tell you . . . he really is everything.
I hug Luke Malone as if I’m never going to see him again. I know I promised him I would, and I will . . . but who knows whether his resentment over my leaving will have kicked in and he won’t like me anymore.
I breathe him in. The little boy smell. The shampoo in his hair. The feel of his tiny arms as they squeeze me tight.
Then I force myself to leave before I make a blubbering idiot out of myself. As it is, I have to sit in the parking lot for several minutes, waiting for the tears to subside so I can see well enough to drive.
When I pull out of the school’s parking lot, it’s almost as if Grayson knows I’m stealing away in the light of the day without saying goodbye—a helicopter flies overhead. It’s white with blue graphics, and the numbers 4-4-5 are on the underside.