Page 80 of Setting Limits

I can’t possibly have heard him right. My stomach plummets, and all the blood drains from my body. We had discussed him staying. He was going to stay. Why does it suddenly seem like that’s not the case anymore?

“So, you’re going back on what we discussed, and you’re going to Stanford?” It wasn’t that long ago that he held me in his arms and told me he couldn’t leave me. That I was far too important to him for him to even be away from me for that long.

“I want to talk about me maybe going to Stanford and how we can make our relationship work while I do so.”

“You’re leaving.” There isn’t more to it than that. If he goes, he’s leaving. Plain and simple.

“I’m not just leaving, Chelsea! It’s a job, and grad school. They’repayingme to get my degree, and my pay goes way up once I do. It will help build a future for us.”

“How can there be a future when there is nous? I can’t do this long-distance, Weston. I won’t.” I’m shaking my head frantically. Thousands of miles away is not a relationship and not something I want to be part of. That’s what I have with my parents, who barely call and never visit. I can’t do that with somebody I truly love.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not. You are. You’re the one leaving, Weston. Leavingme.” He knows what it means, the pain there.

He jumps off the couch and starts pacing, his fingers raking through his hair. “You know that’s not what this is, Chelsea. It’s temporary. I’ll fly back every chance I get.” Desperation drips off his words, and I know that we’re killing each other here.

“Sure, you say that now. But what happens when you settle into things? When you’re sick of flying across the countryagain? Or when a weekend here or there isn’t enough to maintain our love? What about when one of us gets lonely?”

His eyes flash to mine, filled with fire. “I wouldnevercheat on you, Chelsea. Across the country or not. And I would hope that with our feelings and everything we’ve been through together, that you wouldn’t cheat on me either. But maybe I’m wrong in that.”

“You’re not wrong, Wes. I just…I don’t understand how it will work. We’ll barely see each other. How can we keep this going with that?”

He crosses the room and takes my face in his hands. “Because I fucking love you, that’s how. This isn’t just an everyday kind of love, Chelsea. It’s special, it’s different. You talk about wanting what Lochlyn and Shay have? This is it, sweetness. This is that all-consuming, soulmate, meant-to-be kind of love. And not even thousands of miles can break us.”

Tears pool in my eyes, and I wrap my finger around his wrists. I so desperately want to believe him. But how can I? After everything I’ve been through, after the people who are supposed to love me unconditionally no matter where they are on the planet, all but disowned me. How can I trust he won’t do the same thing?

Maybe love is supposed to be enough, maybe it’s supposed to conquer all, but right now, it’s not…and it doesn’t.

Chapter 42

I’veallbutrefusedto see Wes again since that day. I avoid him at all costs, not answering when he knocks on my door, leaving class a little later after the day he waited for me. I don’t go to the apartment, even though it cuts in on my time with Lochlyn and Shay.

Calls go to voicemail, texts sit ignored or on read. How could he be doing this to me? How could he be leaving me aftereverythinghe knows, how much he knows it’s broken me to have my parents leave me.

My behavior is a full regression of whatever progress I’ve made toward being a better, stronger, less selfish person. But I can’t help it. This one cuts deep. It’s one I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from, leaving at least a partially gaping and weeping wound.

I trusted him. I opened myself up, gave him my heart, my soul, my future. And he’s just ripping it all away. I can’t see how long distance could work. Maybe I refuse to, I don’t know. But things were one way and changed literally in a day. If we hadn’t planned for him to be here, if we had discussed this possibility from the beginning, maybe it would have been easier to hear it. But we didn’t. The decision was made; he’d be staying, and Stanford was a distant memory. And yet, here we are, with it not being quite so distant after all.

Graduation is in a few days, then he’s off. Forever. My heart can barely handle the thought, and yet, I have no choice. So instead, I keep myself locked in my room outside of classes. I barely eat. Shay often brings me something, even on the nights she’s with Lochlyn.

As I leave for a late evening study session to prepare for finals, I turn around from locking my door and run into a warm brick wall.

When I glance up, I’m met with cobalt, filled with pain, and dark disheveled hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a comb, brush, or any styling gel in weeks. His hands loop around my waist and grip on so tightly it’s like he’s making sure I’m real, and if I am, he’s gripping so hard that I can’t get away.

“Chelsea.” His voice is so strained, so tense. I can practicallyfeelthe hurt in it.

There’s no chance for me to answer before he pulls me into his chest so tight I can barely breathe. But any breath I take, draws in that amazing, spiced scent, and I all but collapse against him.

He murmurs my name repeatedly into my hair before he pushes me backward into my room, kicking the door shut before spinning me around and caging me against it. His forearms are on either side of my face, and his hips are pressed into mine. He’s hard as a rock, and while my mind screams no, not right now, not like this with everything in such shambles, my body screams yes.

When his lips close over mine with a ferocity I’ve yet to experience, I kiss him back just as hard, my nails digging into the skin at the back of his neck and shoulders. I claw at him, tearing at his clothes, needing them off. Understanding my silent plea, he slides his hands down my body and under my thighs, hoisting me in the air.

He carries me over the bed and lays me down gently, climbing up over me and peppering kisses on any exposed skin he can find, including my midriff. My pants are removed in the next second, followed by my shoes, shirt, everything until I’m completely naked. His clothes aren’t far behind, and within seconds our skin is finally brushing one another’s.

Leaning on one elbow, his dark cobalt eyes track down my body, taking in every square inch, his hand following. “You’re utter perfection. And I’m a Goddamn fool.”

I have no idea what he means, and I have no chance to ask him as he melds our mouths together again and eases himself inside me. He knows me well enough by now to understand that I don’t need the foreplay. This isn’t a time when we’re seeing how many orgasms I can have, when he’s seeing how much he can get out of me or push me. This is clearly different. More sensual than sexual.

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