Page 78 of I Still Love You

After I took a long drive and skipped lunch, I came back with a clearer head, though I’m still pissed as hell. She should’ve told me she was considering her options. Why wait until the last minute? Why wait until I’m devoted to the idea of us again? It’s bullshit.

She’s beautiful as hell when she breaches my line of sight, her periwinkle scrubs contrasting against the brightness of her hair, against the tan on her arms.

“Hey,” she says, her voice airy and light even though I’m sure she’s seen some shit today. Working in the emergency department is a heavy job. One she does well. She hooks her palms on my shoulders and leans down, brushing her lips against my stubbled cheek. “How did your hearing go? I’ve been thinking about it all day. I tried calling on my break using the phone at the nurse’s station because I couldn’t find my cell, but it went to voicemail.”

It went to voicemail because I ignored it. I was on the freeway doing breathing exercises and headed for the next town over when my ringtone sounded. One glance at the screen, and I decided that I wasn’t going to talk to her until I got a better grasp on my thoughts.

“Yeah, it went fine,” I answer, my voice clipped and hard like metal.

She stills beside me, and I have yet to look up and take in her expression. “What happened? You sound upset.”

Without flinching, I pull her phone from my pocket and toss it on the table. It slides, skidding to a stop before it falls off the edge. “Found your phone.”

“I was wondering where I left it. I’ve been looking for it all day,” she says, reaching for it.

When her hand curls around it, I ask, “When were you going to tell me, or weren’t you?” I lift my chin and finally meet her eyes. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. As much as I want to hate her entirely and go cold on her like I did before, I can’t fathom making her heart bleed the way mine is.

Her brows knit together, furrowing with confusion. “What are you talking about? Luke, what did your lawyer say? Is it bad?”

“I got community service and have to go to anger management. Were you planning on telling me at all?”

“Luke, I—”

I interrupt, my voice cold as ice when I say, “Layla, I saw the fucking emails.”

“What emails?” My eyes rake over her features, waiting for the second realization hits. She steps closer when it does. “Luke, it’s not what you think.”

I push up from my chair, shoving it to the side as I step into the kitchen. “It looked pretty straightforward to me.” I narrow my stare on her, hating the way her lip trembles with the same shit I’m feeling. “Just tell me, Layla. Were you planning this all along?”

“It was always the plan to leave as soon as I could. You wanted the same. Don’t you remember?”

“I opened my fucking heart and home to you again, Layla. What the hell do you think that meant? That I wanted you to bail again?”

She flinches. “My recruiter has an obligation to reach out at the end of all my contracts. He was doing his job. Besides, I don’t even know what this is between you and me. What are we?”

“Judging by the fact he’s sent you multiple emails, I’m going to go ahead and assume that you’ve entertained the idea of packing up and shipping out.” I cross my arms over my chest, preparing my own fucking heart for what’s to come. “I wanted you, Layla. Wanted you so fucking bad until this happened. I thought we were heading back to what we used to have.” Lowering to a whisper because this heartbreak is fucking strangling me, I tell her what I told Mason earlier on the phone. “I was sitting outside that courthouse, and you want to know what I was thinking? How badly I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I was ready to tell you that when you came home today, but now I fucking can’t.” It’s like a kick in the ribs, the curved bones breaking under the pressure when I confess, “Not after this.”

Tears collect in her eyes, and I know it’s from me, but she needs to take responsibility for this, too. If it weren’t for her emails, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. “I didn’t decide. Aubrey sent me what I needed in the event I wanted to continue traveling, but I don’t know what I want. I’ve enjoyed these past few weeks with you more than you know.”

“Not near enough if you wanted to keep that line of opportunity open. It’s over, Layla. I feel like an asshole for invading your privacy, so I’m sorry for that, but…” I’m not sorry about the rest.

When her tears fall over the ledge of her eyelid, she wipes them away erratically, probably not wanting me to see the sadness consuming her. And I’m happy for it. I need to put myself first. Lord fucking knows I haven’t since she stepped foot back in Quaint County, but I can’t make myself the priority if I’m focusing on her.

“Don’t do this,” she whispers. “Please believe me.” She takes a step toward me at the same time I get up to move around the other side of the table. I stalk toward the stairs, hoping like hell she takes the hint and does what she does best.

“Leave the spare key on the table when you go. I already gathered the stuff you’ve left over the past few days. It’s in a bag on the sofa.”

I’m spent after dealing with this and my hearing all in one day. I need a fucking break. I need time alone. I need Layla to follow through with those emails, to accept a contract far, far away and stay there. If I’m lucky enough, she’ll do just that, and for once, I’ll be able to let go and start over.

That’ll be my new priority. Right after I figure out a way to kill off this all-consuming love I have for her.

33

Layla

This is what I was worried about—Luke wanting me gone, even though I’m desperate to stay. Even now, on Claire’s couch, I visualize him calling me or breaking through the door, begging for my forgiveness, and telling me not to go.

It only makes my chest ache more because it won’t happen.

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