Spring Break Fling

Chapter 28

28

HANNAH

I sat on the edge of the tattoo chair, the room still softly lit by the flickering candles and lights Nikko had arranged. It was such a pretty setup. I knew he did all of it for me. It was sweet. And thoughtful. And decisively intimate.

It was killing me to know I was going to rain on his already shitty week. But he did know I was leaving. It wasn’t going to be a big shock, but something told me it was still going to sting. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him, but I knew it would only get worse the longer I waited.

This thing with him confused me. I couldn’t put a label on it. It didn’t fit into a box. We were neither fully here nor entirely ready to say goodbye. We weren’t a couple. We weren’t committed, but that was exactly how I felt. My fingers idly traced the fresh lines of my tattoo, the skin tender but the design perfect. It was him, through and through—precise, yet raw. Beautiful.

And it was time to ruin everything.

“I have to go back to Idaho,” I said softly, my voice almost lost in the music he had spent time selecting. Another sign of his sweet attempt to make this special.

“I know. ”

“Three days,” I said, my stomach twisting. “My flight’s already booked.”

He nodded, his eyes fixed on a spot somewhere above my head. “Makes sense,” he said, his tone carefully neutral. “Big break and all.”

I hated how calm he sounded, like he’d already resigned himself to this. Like I hadn’t just dropped a wrecking ball between us. “I wish I could stay,” I said quickly. “But I can’t pass this up, Nikko. It’s everything I’ve worked for. If I don’t give it my all, I’ll always wonder.”

He looked away, pretending to fiddle with his equipment. I could feel him withdrawing from me. I looked around at all he had done for me tonight and knew this version of him was not the same man who had sneakily tattooed his initials on me.

While we both knew this thing wasn’t permanent, actually acknowledging I was leaving hurt. Maybe it was just me, but I felt like the leaving part was years away. I felt like he was operating under that same illusion. Like we didn’t have to think about tomorrow because it wouldn’t come. Because we could just relish in this strange connection. Like we could remain suspended in time.

“Nikko?”

He finally looked at me, and I wished he hadn’t. His eyes were guarded, like he was pulling up walls brick by brick, shutting me out even as he nodded again. “I get it,” he said. “It’s your dream.”

“Thank you,” I said, though my words felt hollow, like tossing pebbles into a bottomless pit. “For everything. For—” I paused, searching for the right words. There weren’t any. “You’ve changed me.”

His brows pulled together, skepticism flickering across his face. “Yeah? How?”

“Before I met you, I wasn’t great at following my heart. Everything had to fit into a flow chart or a schedule. If it didn’t, I couldn’t trust it. But you…” I smiled, though it wobbled at the edges. “You’ve shown me that I can take risks. That I don’t have to have it all figured out to enjoy the ride. You’ve taught me to let my hair down. That’s a priceless gift, Nikko. And this?” I gestured to the tattoo. “This will remind me of you every time I see it. ”

“That wasn’t the point,” he said. His voice had a hard edge to it.

I blinked, taken aback by his sudden sharpness. “What do you mean?”

He stood up, pacing a few steps. “The tattoo wasn’t supposed to be some fucking memento. It was supposed to be about you. About your journey. Not about remembering me.”

I could see he was struggling—not just with my impending departure, but with something deeper. Something that went beyond our brief, intense connection.

“Nikko,” I said softly. “What’s really going on?”

He stopped pacing, his back to me. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “I don’t do goodbyes well.”

I took a deep breath. “Goodbyes suck for everyone.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at me like he was trying to memorize my face. “So, this is over?” he finally asked, his voice low and rough.

I felt my throat tighten. “I think it has to be,” I said, hating the words even as they left my mouth. “Long distance never works. I don’t want to move to Miami, and I doubt you want to move to Idaho. We’re from two different worlds.” I gave him a weak smile. “Can’t we just be thankful for the time we had?”

“Thankful,” he repeated, the word dripping with bitterness. He shook his head and let out a sharp laugh. “If that’s all I get, then fine. I’ll take it.”

The tension between us was thick enough to sink in. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air. Nikko turned away, his shoulders rigid. I knew that posture. It was his defense mechanism, the way he shut down. I’d seen it before.

“Nikko, I don’t know what to say,” I said. “I’ve had such a good time getting to know you and stepping out of my comfort zone.”

“Good. I’m glad. I guess if I never accomplish anything in my life, I can at least know I managed to do that.”

There was bitterness in those words. I watched him blow out the candles and start turning off lights.

I opened my mouth to say something, but his words felt so final, like he was already closing the door on us. It wasn’t supposed to feel this heavy, this permanent. “Wait,” I said, reaching out to touch his arm. “I still have three days. I don’t have to work until I get back to Idaho. We could make the most of it. Maybe take your bike out to the beach tomorrow?”

He shook his head, his eyes dark. “It’ll just make it harder to say goodbye.”

As sad as his statement was, it gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling. It made me feel good to know it was going to be hard for him to say goodbye. I wasn’t alone in the way I felt. It wasn’t just me that felt like we had a special connection. Something that I never would have imagined. We were so different. He was the rough and tough guy, and I was the uptight corporate climber. We were oil and water. But dammit, we connected.

Nikko paused, his gaze lingering on my face as if he were tracing every contour, memorizing every feature before it faded away. The room had grown darker. The last song ended, and the playlist came to a close. In that silence, there was a tension that neither of us wanted to acknowledge fully. I was actually thinking about giving up everything to move to Miami and be with him.

It was a fleeting thought because it was not sustainable. But still, it lingered in the back of my mind like a tempting whisper. “You know, maybe… maybe trying wouldn’t be the worst idea,” I said.

I stared at him, trying to read his expression. Did he think I was crazy? Was he going to laugh at me? There was still that familiar feeling of fear. What was I thinking? Old negative opinions and my own self-consciousness reared their ugly heads.

Why would you think you’re good enough for him?

You’re too curvy.

He’s too hot.

My heart started to beat faster, hope fluttering like a delicate bird within my chest.

“Trying what?” he asked as if he didn’t understand.

“Us,” I said simply. “Trying us for real.”

“Are you suggesting long distance?” he asked .

Even saying it sounded ridiculous. Grappling with the logistics would be impossible. And why would he want to commit to something like that? It wasn’t like we had a lot to fall back on. We had sex a few times. There wasn’t exactly a solid foundation to build a long-distance relationship on.

“I don’t know,” I said. “No. It was just a thought, but I know that’s silly.”

“I don’t know.” He paused, looking down at the floor before his eyes met mine again. Then he shook his head like he had made up his mind. My heart crumbled. “This is it, Hannah.”

The tears hit me out of nowhere, hot and fast, spilling down my cheeks before I could stop them. “I didn’t want it to end like this,” I choked out, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Nikko. For everything.”

He stepped closer, his hand brushing a tear off my cheek. “Don’t be sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m not.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “I don’t regret any of it.”

“Neither do I,” I whispered, my voice thick.

Just as he started to pull away, I held on to his shirt, keeping him close for a few more seconds. “Nikko,” I murmured, my voice barely audible over the sound of my racing heart. “Can we not decide anything tonight? Can we just be together until I have to go?”

There was a heaviness in his sigh, but he nodded slowly, pulling me into his arms. We stood there for what felt like forever, wrapped in the kind of silence that said all the things we couldn’t.

“Come on,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. “I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. All I could do was follow him out of the shop, the weight of goodbye settling in my chest like a stone.

I got into his car and leaned back, taking several deep breaths. When he slid into the driver’s seat, I looked over at him. “Not yet. Can we just go for a drive?”

“Of course.”

He started the engine and pulled out onto the street. The Miami skyline was illuminated against the night sky. We drove without a destination, streets turning into highways, the ocean occasionally visible in the distance under the moonlight. The radio was on, but it was low enough just to be background noise. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to.

My mind raced with thoughts of what could have been, of all the what-ifs that had punctuated our brief time together. Nikko seemed lost in thought too, his eyes focused on the road, occasionally glancing over at me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher. I reached over and put my hand on his thigh, needing that physical connection.

After a while, he pulled off onto an empty street that led to a secluded part of the beach. The same beach he took me to for our quiet picnic. He parked, and we got out without speaking. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled the silence between us. We walked side by side on the sand, neither of us starting a conversation.

The beach was deserted, leaving us alone to deal with our solemn moods. We walked until we found ourselves at the spot where we’d had our picnic, recognizable even in the dim light.

Nikko broke the silence first. “You know, I used to think places like this were only meant for happy memories,” he started, his voice blending with the surf. “Now, I’m not so sure. It seems like they’re also for goodbyes.”

I took in a deep breath of salty air. “Maybe they’re just for important moments, whether they’re hellos or goodbyes. Moments that change things.”

He nodded slightly, looking out over the water. “I guess you’re right.”

We sat down on the cool sand, close enough that our shoulders touched. It was a silent acknowledgement of our lingering connection despite the looming separation.