Page 26 of See You Next Winter
“What if I want to make it work, Kayla?” His soft words suck all the air from my lungs.
For almost a decade, all I’ve wanted is this. Not a sign, not a feeling, but actual concrete words. Proof he wants me the way I want him. Now I have it, I wish he’d take it back. It’s too late.
“I said, what if I want to make it work?”
My feet stay rooted to the spot, even when he reaches out to pull me back into his arms. I land with my palms against his chest. Normally, I can’t get close enough, but this is suffocating.
“Why are you saying this now?”
His hands sweep from my shoulders down to my elbows and back up to my wrists. He circles them with his fingers, thumbs pressing into my pulse point as if he’s checking I’m real. There’s some muscle memory there, but I can’t place it while my head is full of his words.
“I missed you so much, and I know I should have tried to get in touch with you. That was a dumb fucking move on my part, but I can’t imagine going home and waving you off with a‘see you next winter’anymore. That’s not going to be enough for me.”
“We couldn’t make it work when I was in Edinburgh and you were in London. What on earth makes you think we can make it work between here and L.A.? The time difference would kill us if the distance didn’t.”
Me. It would kill me.
“We’ve never really tried! It’s only nine hours. I’ll call you before I go to bed and we can chat while you eat your breakfast. Then I’ll call you before I start work and you’ll be getting home.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say, tugging my hands back. “Do you hear yourself? I don’t want a relationship based on phone calls.”
“But youdowant a relationship with me?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Please, Kayla? Please give us a chance.”
“It’s not what I want, Ryan!” I yell.
“You don’t want me?”
“Stop twisting my words.” A woman across the street stops to assess the situation. I wave her on and lower my voice. “You’re not being fair. You can’t abandon me for three years and expect me to agree to a long distance relationship just because your sister and your friend have hooked up and you’re feeling some kind of way about it. There’s no world where you and I work.”
His face crumples, and he looks up at the stars, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen the exact moment I break his heart.
“Ryan, don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying.”
Even in the dim light, there’s no hiding his tears. I cup his cheeks, tilt his head back down to mine, and brush them away with my thumb. There’s nothing worse than seeing him hurting. I’d take all the pain and bear it myself if it meant I could get his smile back.
“This fucking sucks. And it hurts so much,” he shudders out, and I nod and sniff back my own tears. “Can we go home?”
“To mine?” I wouldn’t blame him if he’d changed his mind. About tonight, and about me. He nods, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and we carry on in silence.
In my apartment, I help him out of his jacket and shoes. He’s not even drunk, just emotional and exhausted, which is no surprise given how little sleep we’ve had these past few nights. Between sex and skiing, my thighs have never worked so hard.
He lets me take his hand and lead him to the living room. I flick on a side lamp, sit him down on the sofa, and rush to change out of my ski gear and into comfy clothes. I half expect to find him asleep, but when I sit down, he shifts to rest his head in my lap.
We were teenagers, half-watching some dumb Christmas movie the first time we did this. A play fight that started with innocent tickling and ended up with us panting for breath and him looking up at me the way he is now. Our first kiss happened the very next day. I always thought that was the point of no return for us, but I think we were entwined long before then.
Smoothing his hair back off his face, he hums contentedly, leaning into my touch. It’s a dangerous cycle. Even in pain, we find comfort in each other, only for that comfort to turn into more pain when we go our separate ways.
The only thing worse than having him for only two weeks of the year, would be knowing he’s mine, but getting none of the benefits. None of the closeness, the kisses, the knowing smiles across a room.We’d have to go about our separate lives never getting a goodnight hug or grabbing lunch together. We aren’t cut out for that kind of torture.
“I thought I could get over you,” he says quietly. “But I couldn't, and I hated you telling me you tried to get over me, too.”
“Shh, it’s late. We don’t have to talk about it.”
