Page 101 of Bad For A Weekend

“After you left, why didn’t you text me like you said you would?” she asks, and I’m grateful that she has the courage to get to the hard stuff.

“That’s actually why I’m here.” I grab one of her hands, needing to touch her to get me through this. “I didn’t reach out because I know us. Even though we know how wrong this is and know it’ll bring nothing but hurt, we can’t stay away from each other. All it would’ve taken was you saying you missed me or wanted to see me, and I would’ve run right to you.”

“I’m graduated now, Owen. I think that’ll make a difference with my dad, and if we can wait until I’m at college, that’ll be even better.” Hope blooms in her cornflower blue eyes.

“No, it won’t make a difference,” I say, hating how it makes her wilt. “Because even if your dad was okay with it—and that’s a pretty big fucking if—I’m not right for you.”

“You don’t get to decide what’s right for me. It’s my life.” Normally, I’d welcome her sass, but this is different. Her tone is low and threatening, like she’s gearing up for a fight.

“Think about it, Bay. Really, honestly, think about it. How does our future look in four years when you graduate again? With me installing security systems while you travel the world, writing about important things and becoming an award-winning journalist?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. That’s the thing about the future. We get to decide what it’ll look like.”

“There’s a difference between you and me, though. You have the opportunity to decide that. I don’t. My future is already here. I’m practically middle-aged, and I have nothing figured out. I know you; you’d give up anything for those you love, and I don’t want you to give up anything for me. You deserve to go after your dreams with nothing holding you back, and that won’t happen if you’re with me.” I stare down at her thin and dainty fingers with chipped pink polish.

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit. A job and a bank account don’t make a person worthy or deserving. But the things you’ve done, the lives you’ve saved, and the way you brought yourself back from depression and anxiety, that does. You have everything I could ever want in a partner.” She pulls my hand to her lap now. “Plus, this is you and me we’re talking about. The way we connected almost instantly is special.”

“It is special. But special doesn’t fix our problems.” I stand, hating myself for what I’m about to do. “You said earlier that this is your life, and you get to decide what’s right for you. But I get to decide what’s right for my life and being with you isn’t it.”

I hear her sharp inhale, but I can’t bring myself to look because if I see the devastation in her eyes, I will get on my knees right here and now and beg her to forgive me. I’ll take it all back and stay by her side for the rest of my life, all the while knowing I made the wrong choice.

“Owen, don’t do this. Just give it some time. Think about it more,” she pleads.

“I’ve done nothing but think about this every second of every day since we left Tulum. Every road I try to take leads us to a dead end. I need to walk away before we get any deeper.”

“I love you, Owen. That’s not deep enough for you? How about you love me too? Still not deep enough?” Her voice cracks, and I worry she’s not physically strong enough for such an intense conversation. Maybe I should’ve waited until she was healed. Shit.

Unable to keep myself from her, I sit down on the bed and cup her face. Fat tears show up in the corners of her eyes and roll down her cheeks. I wipe them away with my thumbs.

“Don’t cry. This is for the best. Even if you can’t see it yet. Just trust me.”

“I thought I did, but I don’t know anymore.”

“Don’t say that. You trust me; I know you do.”

“Owen.”

I close my eyes and take a steadying breath. It’s my turn to beg. “Please let me walk away. I’m begging you. If you love me, if you want what’s best for me, please.”

Her forehead connects with mine, and I feel her subtle nod of agreement. I wet my lips and tip her face up for one last kiss. We’ve had a few last kisses, but this time I know for a fact that it really is the final time our mouths will touch. Inside, my stomach is a rock-hard knot. Everything in me screams not to do this to us, fights to figure out a way to keep her forever. But my head is resolute, and, in this moment, it’s winning.

I drink from her lips, savoring her taste and committing her softness to memory because after this, that’s all I’ll be left with. Wet saltiness from her tears or mine lubricates the kiss, adding another layer of sadness. Her lips part, and I delve in, our tongues moving in a slow and savory dance.

I need to pull away. Do it, Owen. Pull away now. Now, goddamn it. This has gone on long enough.

But I can’t.

She hiccups, breaking our pace. I use the interruption to do the last thing in the world that I want to. With one final, gentle peck, I release her and flee like the coward I am. Right before the door closes behind me, I hear Baylor’s guttural sob. I sink to my haunches, not giving a shit how it looks to the guard outside. I have no fucks left to give.

“You okay, man?” he asks.

“Fine. Just need a second.” I run my nose down my arm and my hands over my face, wiping away the evidence of what I’ve done and take a breath that’s meant to calm but does nothing of the sort.

“Need me to call Hudson or something?”

For fuck’s sake. Has this guy never seen a man lose the love of his life?

“No,” I say, standing. On shaky legs, I walk away from my everything.

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