Page 146 of Reluctantly You

I want it to be true. I so want it to be true.

My eyes slide to my art, the canvas streaked with reds and oranges, blacks and grays. It’s a mess, just like my life. Not a speck of clarity anywhere.

I wet my lips and type out a response on the cracked screen, a moment of panic where I slammed my phone down in a fit of anger when I thought too hard about my life, about the choices I’ve made.

Me

I need you.

My finger shakes as I send it and wait. God, I have no right to ask this of him, none. He should discard me, throw me away. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve him.

We don’t deserve each other.

And yet, seconds later, he replies, my tears flowing freely now. I slump down in my seat, relief surging through me.

Gideon

I’m coming, baby. Just wait.

And before I can respond, my phone flickers and goes black.

Shit.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mitch

I’m outside my van, back at the campground where I’ve been sleeping. My feet have dug a small path in the grass just outside, one that has been worn down by my incessant pacing.

I don’t know if he’ll actually come. I never sent my address, never had the chance. My phone died and refuses to turn back on.

Where is he?

Is he coming?

Surely he must be coming, right? Why else would he have said that?

God, he’s not coming, and here I am…waiting.

I should have gone to the store and purchased a new one, but I fretted about not being around when he arrived.

Fuck, I don’t want to miss him.

So I wait nervously, my fingernails bitten down to the quick as I struggle with it all. I vacillate between pure panic andintense loneliness. Wanting him so badly and not wanting him at all.

Please come. Please fucking come.

The sun is setting, the sky turning gray. The stars aren’t even out, covered by the clouds spanning the sky, an ominous sign if I ever saw one. And still, I don’t move, just pace until I hear the crunch of tires.

My heart stutters, my breathing growing labored, and then there he is, striding toward me, his face slightly scruffy, his shirt slightly askew.

I can’t breathe. Can’t fucking breathe.

An inhale, a gasp, gazes colliding. Then his forehead gently touches mine.

“Mitchell,” he rasps, and I sag into him, my mouth meeting his, hungry, eager.

Oh god, I missed this. I missed him.

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