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“How’s that?” I manage to slip-in while he huffs and puffs some much-needed oxygen.

“My dad told me something a long time ago that stuck, and I applied it. While you were dancing, laughing and enjoying the concert, I was thinking. Love is an uncontrollable imprint, unquantifiable. The only way, within reason, to define something unquantifiable is to measure it against something that is. The value versus the value. I thought about stupid shit first, like my car. Didn’t come close to meaning as much to me as you. My money, I’d throw it all out a window to be with you. And then, I considered myself, ‘cause I’m pretty damn valuable in my own mind,” his faint laugh is facetious and forced. “My life, the only one I have and cannot replace,” his eyes soften and seem to look through me, “I’d give it, without a second thought, for yours. You, Bellamy Jill Morgan, are the imprint that needs no other explanation. The embodiment of why my life is worth living, or sacrificing. Sono, I don’t want toretractanything. I love you. Quantifiably. Unmistakably. Forever.”

Tears flow in torrents down my cheeks, the tempo of my heart erratic and exhilarating. My head is spinning, replaying each impossible word he just said and meant. I love him beyond reason and am ready to show him, with every part of me. I lunge for him…only to land in the still-warm, empty space now left.

I look up to find my man stomping around, getting dressed as if headed to, or away from, a fire. “Where are you going?” I croak, fear building fast within me.

He snaps his head toward me, a mask of incredulity hiding his handsome face. “Thought I’d run out for donuts.”

Oh.

“Not really, Bellamy! I’m leaving. Thunder,that’d be me, angry and about to lower a boom, and lightning,that’d be you, my light, even though I’m pissed, do not make a good combo. Trying to avoid one helluva storm.” He sits to put on his shoes. “Love you, still my baby, but mad as fucking hell. I’ll call and cancel our trip; maybe we’ll take it some other time. Try not to drive in the meantime, ‘cause… you’re bad at it! See, saying mean shit, gotta go. We’ll talk,” he sighs, “when we talk.”

And he leaves.

And I curl into a ball of big-mouth, press-an-issue-that-doesn’t-even-exist stupidity and cry ‘til I’m out of tears. He opened up, fully, vulnerably, for the first andonlytime ever— for me—and I cast doubt over it. Took a beautiful morning of loving embrace and ruined it.

Should I call him? Beg for forgiveness?

A memory springs to life and I jump out of bed, running to the window. Maybe he’s still parked outside, like last time. A severe neck crane to see from my now third-floor confirms…he’s not.

I get that I hurt him, but really? All I did was ask a question. Was it not a valid one? I just wanted to make sure before I free-fell. Is that so wrong? Country music and twinkle lights do weird things to people.

And I’ve never done this before.

But neither has he.

Damn.

I grab my phone and call him, but he sends me straight to voicemail. So I send him a text.

 

Me: Jefferson, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you or doubt you. I’m just… scared. I love you. And I know you love me. What you said, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I’m sorry. Please forgive me, come back.

 

Without censor or pride, I hit send. And wait.

And wait some more, eventually making a quick, small breakfast since my stomach’s in nervous riot, then go take a shower. Still no response when I’m done, so I get ready for the day…to do what, I have no idea. I clean my apartment, refusing to make the bed where we slept, and pretend to comprehend any part of what little bit of T.V. I watch. I think it wasCarrie. OrSay Yes to the Dress. Hard to tell.

By afternoon, my stomach’s grumbling for lunch and he still hasn’t responded. I’m out of shit to do and any ideas how to fix this, so I do the opposite of what would seem to make sense,considering where that got me.

I pull out their numbers and start a separate group text.

 

Me: I screwed up and am clueless what to do. Need advice, thought I’d call in the troops. Anyone free?

 

Theseresponses require no torturous wait.

 

Brynn: On my way. I got the ice cream.

 

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