Page 68 of Depths of Desire
“When were you going to tell me?”
The question hung in the air between us, sharp and unavoidable.
Oliver frowned, but there was something behind it, a flicker of recognition, of guilt. “Tell you what?”
My chest was tight, but my voice came out steady. Clear. “That Nationals fall on the same week as our trip.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Oliver went very still, like a deer caught in headlights. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. And in that moment, that horrible, confirming moment, I knew.
He knew. He’d known.
“I just found out myself,” he said finally, but the words came out too fast, too defensive. “I wasn’t?—”
“You weren’t going to tell me, though.” I cut him off, and something in my tone made him flinch. “Were you?”
His jaw tightened. His hands, which had been reaching toward me, dropped to his sides. “I was figuring it out. I didn’t want to worry you.”
The words hit me like a slap.
“Figuring it out means you knew.” My voice was getting tight now, strained with the effort of keeping it level. “And you didn’t tell me. That’s a choice, Oliver. That’s a choice you made without me.”
Something snapped in his expression. Not cruelty, exactly, but pressure. Like a dam about to burst.
“I haven’t made any decisions yet,” he said, and there was an edge to it now. Frustration. Desperation. “I’m trying to figure out what to do, and I didn’t want to…”
“Yes, you have.” The words came out harder than I meant them to. Colder. “You just didn’t say it out loud.”
Oliver stared at me, and I watched the fight drain out of him in real time. His shoulders sagged. His eyes went distant. And I knew that I was right.
The silence stretched between us, thick and final, heavy with everything we weren’t saying.
I stood there in his living room, looking at the boy I’d fallen in love with, the boy who’d given me a key and made me believe I belonged somewhere in his carefully ordered world. And all I could think was how stupid I’d been to think that love was ever going to be enough.
“Then let me make it easier for you,” I said, and my voice sounded strange even to my own ears. Too calm. Too controlled.
Oliver’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
I looked at him, really looked at him, and memorized the way the light hit his cheekbones, the way his hair fell into his eyes when he was worried. Tried to burn it into memory before I said the words that would end us.
“You don’t have to choose anymore.” Each word felt like swallowing glass. “I’m out of the equation.”
The color drained from his face. “Lennox, no. Wait?—”
But I was already moving, already walking toward the door. My legs felt unsteady, like I was walking on the deck of a ship in rough seas.
“Lennox, please?—”
I paused with my hand on the doorknob. Didn’t turn around. Couldn’t look at him, because if I did, I might break. Might beg. Might make this even worse than it already was.
“I hope you win,” I said quietly. “I really do.”
And then I walked out.
The door clicked shut behind me with a sound like finality.
I made it home before the tears came.
