He sits up and pulls me with him. I slide my legs over his, straddling into his lap. He frees my face of hair and tucks strands behind my ears, and I relax, eyes closed, wishing I could always feel the gentle movement of his hands. I wonder if this is normal for him, if he treats every woman he sleeps with this way.
Does he worship their bodies and mutter, “Good God,” to himself? Do these unnamed, faceless women get to press their hearts against his and be held with no need to move or shift but stay completely in bliss just feeling their rhythms sync together?
“Eli,” I whisper.
“Hm?” He rubs his closed mouth against my neck.
“Do you love me?”
Tucker stops. He holds my back in his arms and lifts his head. With serious eyes, he says, “You said I didn’t have to.” He must feel the pound in my chest. “You said we could just pretend.”
My throat swells. Tears are coming, I wish I could stop it, but I nod fervently, trying to agree, “I know.” It doesn’t come out so clearly.
“Ella, please.Please,” Tucker begs. Our foreheads connect. “I wish I could explain. I wish I could make you understand.” He wipes away my tears, and my face relaxes into his palms. “You weren’t breathing.”
“But I’m breathing now,” I whisper.
“No one knew if you were going to wake up. I don’t know how I could have gone on if something happened to you. Nothing will ever compare to that pain and if I didn’t love you asmuch as I did, then I might not have hurt so much.”
“I’m fine,” I sob.
“You were completely limp in my arms. I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.”
“But you did everything right. You saved me.”
“It was so close.” Tucker kisses me. “Anything can happen. If I choose to love you, then something like that can happen again. I can’t help loving my family, I didn’t choose that. But I can stop loving you to protect myself from all of that pain.”
I grip his wrists. “You can do that? You can juststoploving me?”
He mutters, “I’m trying really hard.”
“Did you love me when you pulled me out of the car?” I ask. “Or…before then?”
His nose swipes across mine, a melancholy smile affecting his face. He says, “I don’t know when it started, but I know when it ended. The way I loved you every second of my lifeconsumedme, Ella. It wasn’t healthy. It sure didn’t help me get through fucking therapy. I had to stop being that guy if I wanted to stop remembering that day.”
So, he did love me.
I wish I could relive those moments –I love you, Ella –and dissect them with a microscopic lens, scrutinize what his face looked like, what I could have possibly done to make him feel that way. I don’t know what he would have seen in me, but I love him for reasons he wouldn’t be able to see in himself. I could melt in the warmth of our affection for one another, not being able to see the fire or know what caused it but burn in the heat of it anyway.
My palms land on his chest, a lone, struggling tear landing on my thigh.
“But you’ll love someone one day,” I tell him. “You find a woman and marry her and -”
“Not like I love you.” He pulls me close to his face and whispers, “Ella,youwere my dream. I’ll never love anyone like I love you, I promise.”
I’m abruptly lifted from him, and Tucker slides off the bed, saying, “I’m going to get you some coffee.” He puts his boxers and sweatpants back on.
That’s not fair,I want to tell him, watching him walk out of the door. If we love each other, we should decide together what comes next. I reach for his sweatshirt where it’s crumpled on the floor beside me. It shouldn’t be this hard to be together. It doesn’t need to be this complicated.
I tug the sweatshirt on and slip into a pair of shorts.
Tucker loved me alone for all of those years. This kind of karma isn’t justified, especially because I know he still loves me, I feel it. He said it.Not like I love you.Present tense. I wouldn’t be loving him alone and he wouldn’t be loving me alone, we’d be loving each other together, but separately. I don’t know how to make him understand the value of love even when loss is inevitable.
I walk out of the bedroom and Tucker stands just outside of the door, holding a cup of coffee. He’s surprised to see me clothed.
“Thank you,” I say, taking it.
He’s looking at me with questioning eyes.Is it ruined?