Page 68 of Choosing Forever
He pinches my sleeve and pushes it up to my elbow before doing the same to the other. “Come with me.”
I follow without argument. He pushes his bedroom door open and brings me inside.
“I can’t fix your pants, but you can wear a T-shirt,” he says.
The small dresser against the wall opposite his double bed is cluttered with schoolbooks, empty boxes of pencils, a calculator, and a familiar picture frame. I roll my lips, staring at the photo of us at our high school graduation.
“I didn’t mean to take this one with me. It’s yours.”
Blinking, I take the shirt he’s offering me and hold it close. The dark grey fabric is soft, and I know without looking at the design on the front which one it is.
“You could always keep it here. For when I come visit,” I suggest, almost shyly.
“Is that a good idea? That feels pretty permanent.”
“Is permanent a bad thing? I thought that’s what this has always been.”
He frowns. “Of course it’s permanent. I just meant that we still have two years of this.”
“Two years,” I repeat, letting that sink in. “Or we could have two years of something else, Darren. What if this wasn’t the right decision?”
“You can’t know that yet.”
“Don’t you? Do you think this is right?”
He shakes his head, turning to sort through his messy textbooks. “It was your choice.”
Desperation claws at me. His words are right, but they sound so wrong.
“Tell me to put an end to it, then.”
“I’m not going to do that. Especially tonight.”
I stare down at the shirt in my hands and grip it tighter. “Don’t you want me?”
The question plops onto the floor. Darren doesn’t speak, letting the silence start to crawl down my throat, suffocating me.
There’s a crack in my chest. Then, I’m swallowing my pride and pulling my shirt off. It slips from my fingers, falling to the ground at my feet. The pulse from the music in the living room is wrong, and so is the heat in this place. Everything around me is wrong.
Darren’s the only right thing. He’s always been the right one.
“Darren,” I whisper, taking one small step toward him. “Answer me.”
The pain in his eyes throttles me when he turns around, gazing at me in a way I haven’t seen him look in too long. I hold my breath when he looks at my bare chest and then flicks back up, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“I’ve always wanted you, Delaney. But you said four years. You’ve been saying four years since we were teenagers, and when I put that ring on your finger, you made me agree again. I’d have married you already if I knew that’s what you wanted and were ready for. But you need these four years. Not two, but four. Don’t ask me to break that agreement right now and risk you resenting me for it later.”
He flicks a look at the shirt in my hand, and I use shaking hands to put it on.
“We’ve let the lines blur, and now, things are all messed up. We can’t keep doing this to each other.”
“We’re fine, Darren. I’m sorry. Just, don’t leave me—I’ll be fine with the boundaries. I can’t cut you off completely. Please, don’t do that,” I plead, my voice breaking.
Suddenly, he’s in front of me, gathering me into his arms. “I’m not doing that. We’re not, Elle. Don’t go there.”
“I can’t lose you.”
His exhale is weighted, like he’s just as scared as I am.
