Page 85 of As the Years Pass
I’d feel better if I did. Please, I want to explain.
I sigh, staring at the text. It’s not that I don’t want to see him or be with him, but I thought space after our argument would be good. I’m in my head now, and I don’t like him seeing me like this. I don’t want him thinking that he did anything wrong when he didn’t. This is a me thing and I need to figure it out.
But I also hate that he’s upset…
You can always come by here, Adam. You don’t have to ask.
My laptop screen goes to sleep because even though I’m trying to work, I find myself staring and anticipating Adam showing up. I wake it up, then keep staring at the spreadsheet as if it’s going to give me incentive to finish this work. If I’m being honest, I wouldn’t have been able to focus anyway. I’m finally with Adam, but now I have a whole different pile of worries.
When I came here, I had the perfect plan.
Fix up the bar. Find Adam. Live happily ever after.
It was so simple, so clear.
I’ve since realized this is the real world and things don’t work like that. As if I didn’t know that before…
I did. I knew better. Yet I didn’t allow myself to see all the obstacles in my way.
There’s a knock on the door. I look up.
“Come in!” The door slowly opens, and in walks Adam.
I’d told Pete the other day that when he shows up, he can come back here to see me by himself whenever he wants. I trust Adam,and he doesn’t need a chaperone to walk from the door to the office. What would he even steal? A fork?
Adam steps inside, closing the door behind him, and just stands there. I stare at him, noting how sad he looks. It breaks my heart because I don’t want him to be upset, but I’m upset too. It’s in my nature to push my feelings aside to take care of his, but I’m afraid that’ll put me right back where I was—heartbroken and empty.
“I’m sorry,” he says, still not moving.
I get to my feet and walk to him, stopping a foot in front of him.
“Adam—”
“Please, Emmet—”
He closes the distance between us, grasping my shirt. His eyes fill with tears, and yeah, I’m upset but not like this—not like he is. I’m not saying he’s overreacting, but I feel like something more is going on if he’sthisupset over a little misunderstanding. Or a disagreement, I guess, because I don’t think it was a misunderstanding.
Before I can say anything about what I’m thinking, he continues. “I know we just started this, but ever since California, I’ve realized that I miss this. I miss us. I missyou. I was an idiot for leaving you all those years ago and—”
“Adam—”
“Let me finish, Emmet. Please.” He grips my shirt tighter, his eyes pleading. “I was an idiot for leaving. I did it for all the wrong reasons, and I will never forgive myself for it, but I get that I can’t change the past. And I fully understand that if I didn’t do it, I wouldn’t have my kids, and I could never regret them or anything to do with them.”
“I would never ask you to.”
“But I want this, us. I want you. I have no idea what I’m doing, and it’s going to be really difficult, and I’m probably going tomess up a lot, but please be patient with me. Please, I just—” His eyes fall closed, and he lets out a shaky breath before his blue eyes find mine again. “I still love you, too. I always have, I think. I just hid it away because I’m scared of this, of what it all is and what it all means. It’s a lot. What we have? It’s so big and special, and I’m terrified of it because I don’t know how to have that. But I want it. I want it so fucking bad.”
He’s going to keep going, and I get he needs to speak, but I can’t bear listening to him be so upset. So I kiss him to shut him up.
He gasps against my mouth, and I push him against the door, his body landing with a soft thud.
I slip my tongue into his mouth, and he opens for me, kissing me back. It’s slow and passionate, and he tastes so good. I cup his face, deepening the kiss, and he moans softly. He reaches for the waistband of my pants, flicking the button open. I grab his wrists, resting my forehead against his.
“That isn’t necessary,” I tell him quietly.
I know what he’s doing. Adam is good with his body, and he’s good with mine—always has been. We never had an issue with communicating, but sex came so naturally. He feels there’s a wedge between us, and he is going to drive it out with sex. He’s always done that, and over the years, I’ve realized how much we shouldn’t have been doing it.
“I want to,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss my neck. His hands find my hips, and he guides me backward, around my desk, gesturing for me to sit in my chair.
