Page 78 of A Fighting Chance

Of course, I would have to go back to Boston. I would have to pack up my stuff, give my rental apartment notice. I would have to close out some clients, though most would be fine with me working remotely. It wouldn’t be too hard. Two weeks tops and I could be driving back with a moving truck.

Where would I live when I got here, though?

On the farm? Somewhere else?

Move straight into Gentry’s room with him?

That seems a little too much. I stick a pin in that variable for a moment. My logical brain sorts through issues one at a time.

I’d be down here, living somewhere, working remotely. Gentry and I would be together.

And what?

What if it doesn’t work?

Then we’re in close quarters and it’s awkward.

What if we can’t even be in the same room?

Would he quit working on the farm?

That hardly seems fair.

Would I move away again?

That seems like a lot of work—a lot ofrisk.

“Want to get lunch now?” Harper’s question snatches me from my thoughts.

I realize we’ve made it through all the shops on the street. We’re standing in front of the diner on the corner.

“Yeah, sure,” I say.

As we go in, I know.

I know it’s not a good idea to stay. I know if it ends, it’s too much, too complicated. The ripple effects are too great.

It’s better that the two of us shatter now than potentially shattering the great big world we’d build around us later.

Twenty-Six

Gentry

This morning,I was relieved to find out Lyla had left the farm for the day with Nan and Harper. It meant that avoiding her would be a little easier—at least for today. One more day and she’d be going home. Just one more day, and I won’t have to hide. I can fall apart and start to heal.

I couldn’t think of anything else to do last night but go to Harper’s cabin. I decided to stay there until Lyla leaves. It’s for the best at this point. I can’t be in such close proximity to her and not want to say something, do something. Beg. I’m not above begging for the sake of her—of us. But I already tried. She wants me to let go, and distance is all I can offer now.

Perhaps I’m not built for flings. For summer romances and hookups. That culture seems so disingenuous. I can’t stomach it, not for myself. I don’t judge other people—good for them. Do what you want, you’re an adult. I can’t, though.

Or maybe it’s just with Lyla. Maybe she makes it impossible.

I stare out at the fields of sunflowers on the back lot of the farm as the sun sets and it almost looks like it’s on fire. Like my life. Like my heart. Everything hurts. She’ll be gone soon. One more restless night. One more night where she is close by and my body wants to go to her, but my mind stops me from indulging. After that, she’ll be farther away and it’ll be easier to stifle the impulses.

I walk back into the barn and hear the sounds of a vehicle pulling up the gravel drive. My heart begins to thud—not pound…thud. Like it’s going to fall out of my chest cavity and into my stomach. I get close to the door but try to stay concealed. The car pulls up to the porch and I watch Lyla exit the back seat. Her hair is a mess on top of her head and she doesn’t look like she put on fresh makeup today, even from here. I like her best like this. She collects bags from the back with Harper. She’s smiling, but it’s dulled. Not big and bright like I’ve come to know it over the weeks. Not genuine. Not the real Lyla.

Even now, I want to go to her. I want to apologize for putting her in an impossible situation. To soak up every moment I can with her before she goes. I want to touch her, feel her skin. Make love to her again and again up until the moment she has to leave. Kiss her lips until they’re swollen, inhale her honeysuckle scent.

But I can’t. I won’t.

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