Page 79 of Depths of Desire
The trail started gently, winding through dense pine forest that smelled like Christmas and childhood and every good thing I’d ever associated with winter. But I pushed the pace harder than the terrain demanded, feet pounding against packed earth and scattered pine needles, lungs working to keep up with my punishing rhythm.
This is stupid.
The rational part of my brain tried to intervene, tried to point out that I was slightly drunk and definitely not in the right headspace for a solo trail run in unfamiliar mountains. But I ignored it and pushed deeper into the forest, chasing some impossible finish line where Oliver wouldn’t exist in every breath I took.
I ran until my chest burned and my legs shook and sweat poured down my back despite the cooling air. I ran until the trail forked and I had to choose a direction, until I realized I had no idea how far I’d come or how to get back. I ran until I couldn’t run anymore, until I collapsed against a massive pine tree and finally admitted the truth I’d been avoiding all day.
None of it was working. Not the drinking, not the flirting, not the swimming, not the running. I couldn’t outrun these feelings any more than I could drink them away or fuck them out of my system with strangers who weren’t him, especially if I couldn’t even get a spark of lust for those strangers.
I’m not going to get over this.
The realization settled in my chest like a stone. This wasn’t a phase or a rebound or a temporary setback. This was my new reality: loving someone who’d chosen his career over us, missing someone who probably wasn’t missing me back, wanting something I’d thrown away in a moment of hurt pride.
God, I’d made such a fucking mistake. Walking out like that, dramatic and wounded and righteous. Making the choice for both of us because I was too scared to have a real conversation about what we both wanted. Too scared to fight for something that mattered more than anything else in my life.
But even knowing that, even sitting here in the middle of the woods with tears stinging my eyes and my heart cracked wide open, I couldn’t shake the hurt. The knowledge that when pushcame to shove, when he’d been forced to choose between his dreams and our relationship, he’d hesitated.
He would have chosen the Nationals.
Maybe not immediately. Maybe he would have agonized over it, would have tried to find some impossible middle ground. But in the end, he would have chosen the pool over me. The gold medal over us. His future over our present.
And maybe that was the right choice. Maybe his career was more important than whatever we’d built together. Maybe I was selfish for wanting to matter as much as his dreams.
But it still hurt like hell.
The forest was getting darker, shadows lengthening between the trees. I needed to head back before I got completely lost, needed to find the trail and retrace my steps to the cabin where I’d spend another night alone, surrounded by memories of the only person who’d ever made me feel complete.
I should call him.
The thought came from nowhere, desperate and stupid and absolutely terrifying. I should call him and tell him I’d made a mistake, that I’d rather have half of him than none of him, that I was sorry for walking away when I should have stayed and fought.
But what if he didn’t answer? What if he’d already moved on, already found someone else to fill the space I’d vacated? What if he was relieved I’d made it easy for him?
That was the fear that kept me frozen, kept me running through forests instead of picking up my phone. The possibility that I’d been the only one falling, that what felt like love to me had just been convenience to him.
I found the trail as the last light faded from the sky and followed it back toward the resort with my headlamp cutting a narrow beam through the darkness. My legs were shaking withexhaustion, my lungs still burning from the alcohol and the altitude and the desperate sprint away from my own feelings.
By the time I reached the cabin, I was stumbling with fatigue. I fumbled with the key and nearly dropped it twice before getting the door open. The interior was warm and welcoming, exactly the kind of place where two people could fall in love and plan a future together.
Exactly the kind of place where one person could fall apart completely.
I stood in the middle of the living room, still sweating from my run, and felt the walls close in around me. There was the couch where we’d played that stupid truth-or-dare game.
I started pacing, three steps to the window, pivot, three steps to the kitchen, pivot, repeat. Like a caged animal wearing a path in the floorboards. Like someone who’d lost everything that mattered and had nowhere left to run.
I could see him so clearly, as if six months and hundreds of miles and one devastating conversation hadn’t happened. Oliver in the bed, half-dressed and gorgeous, looking at me like I was something precious. Oliver in the shower, steam rising around him like he was some kind of water god. Oliver at breakfast, laughing at himself in that rare, unguarded way that made my chest tight with affection.
He’d been vulnerable with me in ways he probably never was with anyone else. Told me about his family, his fears, his dreams. He let me see him without all the armor he wore for the rest of the world. Trusted me with the soft parts of himself that he kept hidden from everyone else.
And I’d thrown it away because he’d hesitated for one fucking second when faced with an impossible choice.
God, I’m such an idiot.
I was pacing faster now, practically wearing a groove in the hardwood floor. Six steps to the bedroom door, pivot, six stepsto the front door, pivot, repeat. Like movement could somehow undo the last week, could somehow transport me back to a time when I still had him.
He’d never said it outright, but it had been there in every touch, every glance, every moment he’d chosen to spend with me instead of training or studying or doing any of the thousand other things that demanded his attention. It had been there in the way he’d given me a key to his apartment, in the way he’d cooked for me, in the way he’d held me like I was something worth keeping.
And I walked away.
