Page 73 of A Fighting Chance

I can still feel his thumb drawing circles on my skin, and a trail of goosebumps crawls up my arm. Back in that gravel lot, he held me so tight. His arms gripped my hips and I felt totally enveloped. I’d wrapped my arms up around him, gripping his back.

I can’t explain what I’d felt. The rocks beneath our feet, scraping and scuffing. The neon lights dancing in the background. The rest of the world falling away to just a blur. I’d felt his heart beating against my own chest, the slow rise and fall of his lungs, pressed against my body. We swayed in the darkness—completely alone and completely together. There are moments in life, moments so significant and perfect you will never forget them. And that will always be one of mine.

We pull onto the long drive of the farm and the truck rocks from side to side as it dips with the earth. I can see the tire swing ahead and the house beyond, drawing closer. But I don’t want this night to end. Time is pushing me forward and I can’t seem to pause it or slow it down even a fraction. I can’t seem to dig my nails in and stay a little longer.

The truck stops rolling and I watch him shift it into park then turn the key. Gentry is just sitting there, and I wonder if he’s going to say something. He looks like he wants to. He even turns like he might. But then he simply offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he moves to get out.

I sit for a moment longer, and I want to call to him but think better of it. I hop out of the truck and make my way to the porch, passing him.

He slows behind me. “Stay,” he says.

I feel a lump form in my throat, my heart starting to pound. I turn to face him. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says. A pause and then, “Please.”

“Gentry…don’t do this.”

“Before you say no, before you throw this away, tell me you don’t feel something for me. Tell me you’re going to walk away in a few days and never look back and never think of me. Tell me you don’t want me,” he says.

But I can’t. My throat is dry and tight. I have no words for him and I can feel my bottom lip begin to tremble. “Don’t make this harder than it already is,” I manage to whisper.

He hangs his head, looking at the ground, kicking at some imaginary thing there. “We could be something. And you know it. And you’re scared of it,” he says.

“I’m not scared,” I counter. “I left this place, and it wasn’t so I could get sucked back here by some man who thinks he loves me after a good fuck.”

Gentry flinches at my words and I immediately know I’ve hurt him. It’s quiet, only for a moment, but it feels like so much longer.

“Some man,” he says. “I’m justsome man.” He swallows, and I can see him thinking about it, trying the words on.

“Gentry, I—”

He holds his hand up to me. “Don’t. It’s okay. I just needed to know, and now I do.”

We stand there and I’m not sure what to do.

“I don’t want things to end like this between us. I didn’t want it to be like this,” I say.

He lets out a small laugh and shakes his head. His hand rubs the back of his neck and I watch him roll his shoulders. “Well, it’s a little late for that, Lyla. Because they already have.” He steps backward, to his truck, and then turns and opens the door.

He climbs in and sits there for a moment before turning the key in the ignition and driving away. He doesn’t drive away from the property, but rather deeper into it, and I wonder where he’s going to lick his wounds.

It’s better this way,I remind myself.

It’s better to end things now than let them get messier later on. It just gets more dangerous.

The inevitable crash swells, and if left unchecked, it will get too big to survive.

In heartbreak, it’s about balance.

How much of the flood can you take on before you drown?

Too little, and you’re left wanting.

Too much, and you’re left dying.

I walk up the stairs of the porch and look out, hoping to see him, or his tail lights—something. But there’s nothing out there. I don’t know where he could’ve gone, where to look for him. I think about texting him but it’s clear he needs time, space. Perhaps it’s better like this. Perhaps in the heat of anger, it will be easier to let go. A sweet goodbye may have been too painful.

I wrap my arms around myself, rubbing my shoulders, suddenly cold.

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