Page 6 of The Finish Line

Day one, Tobias.

“Talk to me, Cecelia.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.” Her reply is low, so low I’m not sure if she wanted me to hear. But I don’t bother armoring up. She’s already won. Today’s not the day to brawl. It’s a day to surrender. I’ve missed her so fucking much. Over the years, and as the months passed, I sometimes wondered if I imagined some of my need, my affection for her. That theory was blown all to hell the minute I stepped into the boardroom to face off with her after years of separation. It was just another lie I told myself in the days and months after I sent her away. Trying to reason with love is fucking pointless. It doesn’t care about your reasons, right or wrong. Love has no regard for circumstance, nor does it give a fuck what state it puts you in. It’s a relentless and unforgiving emotion that will never let you lie to yourself.

Fixed on her profile, in desperate need of a hit of her ocean blues, I sit back on the heels of my boots, settling in for the first battle of many.

“Why now?” she asks, palming a mum from the container and placing it in the waiting soil. “You wait until I’m settled into a new life. A new life that doesn’t include you. That doesn’t suit you at all. Why?”

“I had to...” I exhale a weary breath when she gives me the side-eye. “No matter what I tell you right now, it will sound like an excuse, but I do have reasons, a lot of them. And I’ll give them all to you.”

She briefly stills the fingers pressing the soil around the plant. “I’m listening.”

“I’m sorry I fell asleep. That’s the last thing I wanted to do. I’m jet-lagged.”

She doesn’t bother asking where I was. She’s too used to not being in the know. Or worse, she doesn’t care.

“I was in Dubai on Exodus business. We just acquired a company. It was my last task as acting CEO before Shelly took over. I haven’t slept in days. When I tied things up, I came straight to you and—”

“Straight to me?” she scoffs. “You know, you’re right, Tobias; anything you say right now will sound like an excuse. You should probably go back to sleep.”

“Let me explain.”

“I don’t know if I want your explanations right now.”

“Well, you deserve them, and it’s fucking cold out here. Let’s go inside and talk.”

She ignores my request and continues her task as though she didn’t hear me.

“I’m not leaving,” I whisper softly, knowing I’m getting nowhere. She doesn’t want to hear me, not now. I stand and do the opposite of that declaration, entering the house and heading back into her bedroom. I grab a hoodie from her chest of drawers and make my way back outside just as she empties another container. She eyes me when I thrust the thick shirt out to her.

“I’m fine.”

“Cecelia, it’s freezing.”

She stands, pulls off her gloves, and yanks the sweatshirt from my hands before tugging it down over her head, the university logo a glaring reminder that I missed her through four years of college, and the summers she spent in France in between, and the years after. A painful reminder she experienced a lot of living without me. Even with a daily report of her well-being and what I could stomach about her personal life, I don’t know most of the intimate details. I couldn’t handle knowing them, though I got overly curious more than once and drank myself stupid, setting my progress back. She stands in front of me now, eyes wary, and even so, it’s lightning in my veins being so close. Our attraction tangible, a constant pulse thrumming between us since the day we met. Even in the murky yellow light, I can see the faint freckles on her nose. She’s symmetrical perfection, from the shape of her face to the tiny divot in her chin. I move to reach for her, and she steps away.

She’s swinging hard already, and I feel every blow. Shoving my hands in my jeans, I toe a loose rock that edges her garden back into place with my boot. “What was the dream about?”

She bites her lip, lifting her faraway gaze when she speaks. “I guess if I had to Freud it up, the interpretation would be that I don’t really know you.” She resumes her place on her knees. “I don’t know your brand of toothpaste.”

“That’s an easy fix. What else happened?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You’re lying. I’m willing to bet you’re out here because of that dream. Because I know you.”

She lets out a labored breath. “I need to get this done.”

“It’s called multi-tasking.” I kneel again and nudge her to the side to share workspace. I grab another shovel from the old-fashioned wooden toolbox sitting on the stone sidewalk behind us.

“It’s early, you’re tired, and I don’t need your help.”

“We’re going to be together. Today, tomorrow, and the day after, Cecelia.”

“Just... back off, Tobias.” The shake in her voice tells me all I need to know as she stands and walks over to a large bag of potting soil before dragging it my way. I don’t help because I’m fairly sure she will stab me with her little shovel if I try to come anywhere near her.

She’s angry. I expected it, but it hurts just the same. I’d forced my way into her space yesterday, much like I did when we got together, and I no longer want that to be the case, but the urge is strong.

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