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“Youcando this with me, but youwon’t. There’s a difference, and I would drop it, but I know how you feel about me. You don’t want this limited to friendship any more than I do.”

“Don’t presume to tell me how I feel,” I snap.

His nostrils flare as he lifts us both, his eyes wreaking havoc even as he gently sets me on my feet. “I don’t have to fucking presume shit. You already told me, and even if you hadn’t, I’d still know.”

“What do you mean?”

He takes a step away before pulling out his wallet and tossing a few bills on the table. Eyes cast down, he lingers where he stands for a long beat, seeming to focus on the pattern of the tiles on the table before he slowly lifts his gaze back to me. It’s strikingly hollow. The distance between now and seconds ago has my stomach dropping. There’s not a trace of warmth to be found. He’s checking out. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

“What do you mean fuck it? Or are you really saying fuckme?”

He swipes the keys to the SUV from the table and turns abruptly, his biting words stinging repeatedly as I softly call his name. Ignoring me, he rips open the chipped blue fenced door to the patio and stalks through, striding away in the direction we parked the car. Feeling condemned, I follow him to the parking lot, juggling our bags until he relieves me of them before shutting me into the truck.

The ride home is painfully silent, aside from the blaring music. We’re now in this horrible place—at such painful odds, which has me panicking because our time is once again running out. The panic increases with every mile we get closer to reality and my window alone with him is cut short. Because tomorrow, I’ll be stuck in the same place I was two months ago—replaying our time together, obsessing over him, his touch, the way he looks at me, his whispered words, mourning what could have been. A cycle that I can’t bear to think about repeating but can’t do a thing about.

I’m certain I’ve been lying to myself in thinking I was trying to get on with my life after returning from Seattle. While my head tried to convince me that was the truth of it, my heart was still holding out hope for the chance to see him again. He’s here, now, and still within reach. He’s validated every feeling I had about us that I chastised and ridiculed myself for. He’s telling me he missed me. Telling me he wants more, that he wants us to be real, and I’m once again forcing the door closed on us.

Shadows that weren’t present yesterday darken his features as I remember the light in his eyes when he picked me up, the ease in his posture, and the easy smiles he so freely gave.

God, was that just yesterday?

With no traces of that Easton to be seen, I mourn that loss more than anything and turn down the radio. “I’ve spent so much time thinking about you,” I deliver my admission that feels much too late as his face remains like granite, his eyes fixed on the road. “The days I’ve spent with you are some of the most unforgettable days of my life, Easton, but my stance hasn’t changed, and it’s only because I can’t hurt my father this way. I know that’s not a good enough reason for you, and I wish, so much, that I could make you understand.”

He bites his lip, his features tensing as his phone rings and Joel’s name flashes on the screen from where it buzzes in the console. I lift it within reach for Easton to answer, and he takes it from my hands and tosses it on my floorboard. It’s then I know the fight is over for him, and my words are useless. I’ve lost him. Dread settles in my chest as I speak up one last time. “I’ll see myself home after the show.”

THIRTY-FOUR

“STAY (Faraway, So Close!)”

U2

Natalie

The auditorium grows mostly silent with palpable anticipation as sweat glides down my back. The distance between us when we parted today at the hotel making the concert a bittersweet experience, knowing goodbye is just on the other side. If I’m granted that. Easton didn’t so much as utter a word to me, other than he’d see me later, exiting the SUV before quietly closing the door. His indifference as he walked into the hotel without a glance back stung worse than his anger. I’d briefly entertained leaving early, but Joel had once again shown up on his white horse to summon and chaperone me to the show uplifting my spirits enough to get me here.

Under Joel’s watchful eye—who stands like a sentry to the left of me—I stand partially cloaked on our side of the cleared stage. The rest of the security are lined at the foot of it to keep the screaming fans at bay. This arena hosts thousands more than the last, and it seems not a single seat went unclaimed tonight. Every so often, I feel Joel inching closer in silent support but also on guard as if Easton ordered him to protectme, while my focus remains glued to the man where he performs feet away. A man currently strapping his guitar around his body as he walks back toward the mic and away from the piano he’s occupied the last four songs. Songs where he continually bruised my battered heart and stole valuable breaths without apology. Even if this is goodbye, the experience of seeing him perform one last time has been worth it.

At least, that’s what I’m trying to tell myself.

I’ve been standing in the same place the whole show waiting for any recognition from Easton—which he hasn’t granted, his grudge clear. Since the concert began, he hasn’t so much as glanced in this direction, and despite my resolve, it stings like a bitch. Even as he played what I now consideroursong, I got absolutely nothing.

As thousands of his newly acquired fans start to scream for him again as he approaches the mic, I feel just as desperate for an ounce of his attention. He’s hurting me purposely, giving me a taste of what it’s like to be nothing more than a spectator in his life, and he’s driving his point home with a sledgehammer.

For the whole of our time together, he’s been subtly and not so subtly reminding me what we started in Seattle is worth the risk, but it seems he’s done trying and I can’t blame him. I should be relieved. Instead, Easton’s cold shoulder feels like a thousand needles digging into my chest all at once.

Even with him a few feet away, it’s the broken connection that has me stalking his every move for any sign that I’m not already a part of his past. Determined not to cower away from the fact he’s acting like an ass—and his A-side is most definitely running the show tonight—I decide to try and reason with him once more before heading home, or at the very least to attempt to part from him on speaking terms.

The spotlight illuminates his sweat-soaked hair as he runs his fingers through it, his thin cotton T-shirt drenched and clarifying every muscle that makes up his build. Electrified, insides warring, and breathless in anticipation of what cover he will play tonight, I glance over at Joel offering up a smile.

“Let’s go back a little,” Easton speaks into the mic as the stadium roars in approval. Grinning at the reception, Easton glances back at Tack before he and LL pluck the first chords. The intro to the song has a funky, upbeat vibe, and I find myself bouncing a little on my heels along with the easy beat. Though I don’t recognize the song—as I haven’t ninety percent of his library—the crowd seems to and screams in approval. Or maybe it’s just Easton because he’s got that effect.

When he begins to sing, I pay close attention to the lyrics knowing that’s half the appeal for him—a habit I’ve kept since our time together. It’s when the lyrics start to register and resonate with me that I feel the implication.

Only a few lines in, Easton turns his head, smug eyes connecting with mine, his expression cool, as he delivers each line like a blow.

He sings of a lost woman, resembling a car crash, who’s stuck in denial, incapable of paying attention to the world around her due to indecision. Of a woman who sees and hears nothing but what she’s programmed herself to see and hear. A woman who looksthroughhim and talksathim, blind to her needs and therefore incapable of discovering something real with anyone.

My chest caves as the insults are hurled with ease due to his delivery. His posture relays his satisfaction as he holds my gaze while I stand stalk still, under attack.

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