Page 101 of Our Long Days
Love is just tough.
I want chill inducing, heart aching, soul altering love.
As Patrick asks everyone to raise a glass, I slink through the sea of bodies, sprinting toward the exit. Humid air licks at my already heated skin. Gravel flies as I make my escape. Where to, I’m not sure.
“Florence?” a deep voice calls.
I don’t turn, simply continuing on my pursuit. I’ll walk home.
“Florence!” Boot-clad feet stomp behind me, drawing closer. His gaze burns the back of my head.
My steps quicken. It’s foolish to think I can outrun him. Dex blocks my path, palms raised. “Where are you going?”
“Anywhere.” My arms fly up.
He’s close. Too close.
A sigh filled with heartache flutters past my lips. “I think it’s best I stay somewhere else tonight.”
“No.”
“No?” I parrot. “That’s all you have to say?”
He swipes a frustrated hand over his short hair. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Everything, Dex. I want everything, and right now, I’m onlygetting half of you. I need to protect my heart. You’re either all in or…” I can’t bring myself to say it.
Or it’s over.
The only noises are the buzz of cicadas and rustling of the blueberry fields.
“Why? Why are you so determined to keep me at arm’s length?”
His chest heaves, hands shaking at his sides. He’s fighting with himself. An internal war rages inside him, and the tension from his body ripples through the balmy evening.
“It’s not that simple,” he grits.
“It’s actually very simple. I’m going to say goodbye, and then I’d like to go home.” I turn on my heel, retreating into the bar.
“I’m driving you,” he calls, and the energy to argue with him depletes.
With the party winding down, no one questions our exit. We’re all up early for the wedding tomorrow anyway.
The ride back tests my anxiety. Dex’s fingers drum on the steering wheel, a new tick. Tiredness settles in my bones, and I practically drag myself into the cabin. Dex’s bed is where I want to lay my head, but my heart demands space.
He sags onto the sofa, big body curling in on itself. He looks how I feel.
Wretched.
With my back to the fireplace, I stand in front of him. “I have to be at my mom’s early, but Quinn offered to give me a ride, so you don’t have to worry.”
He looks down at his clasped hands, knuckles white. He’s wound tight, broad shoulders hunched over. An impenetrable fortress. I’ve tried. Getting him to open up is a battle neither of us will win.
One step is all it takes for the first brick to fall.
“You were never supposed to be mine,” he says softly. “I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you.”
I suck in a sharp breath.
