26. Bryce
TWENTY-SIX
brYCE
I’m wide awake at an ungodly hour, moving around the apartment as if my body hasn’t processed the fact that I’m about to board a plane and leave my life here for three months .
Gulp.
Emerson helped me pack last night between kissing me and doing everything he could to calm my nerves—including a blow job my dick will write poems about.
I’m packed. I’ve got my suitcase, my backpack, and I think I’ve remembered all the essentials—phone, charger, toiletries, and …
oh yeah, the signed, framed photo of Queen Carly Rae, which I obtained by waiting outside of the Hammerstein Ballroom until almost three a.m. in the pouring rain. Zero regrets.
I’m standing in the kitchen, trying not to fall asleep on the counter while Emerson meticulously makes coffee like he’s conducting a symphony.
He’s so much more put together at 4:30 in the morning than I’ll ever be.
Oh, who am I kidding? He’s more put together than me at any time of the day.
This must be why he looks like someone who could be a contestant on a dating show .
“Don’t forget your mini toothpaste,” he says, holding up a tiny tube like it’s the Holy Grail. “You want to make sure your mouth is fresh and cavity free.”
“I can always buy toothpaste in LA,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes. “I’m sure they sell it along with the kale smoothies everyone drinks. Do you think they even have pizza there?”
“They have pizza everywhere,” Emerson says. “Sure, it might be cauliflower crust and fake cheese, but …”
“Blasphemy.”
“I’ll ship you pizza. And Luigi’s meatballs.” He abandons the dripping pour-over and pulls me into a warm hug. “I don’t want you starving.”
“You’d do that for me?” I bury my face in the crook of his neck. Even before the sun’s up, Emerson smells like heaven.
“Babe, I’d do anything for you.”
I heave an enormous sigh. How am I leaving this man?
“Ugh!” I smash my face deeper into him, trying to muffle my frustration.
“Bryce. We’ve been over this. It’s okay. Three months, and you’ll be home.”
“It’s not okay. It’s never okay.” Tears stream from my face, and I’m kind of surprised my body is able to produce moisture before coffee. “Guys always leave me, Emerson. Always. I’m not used to someone sticking around. And now, I’m the one leaving. And I’m leaving you . The most perfect guy.”
Emerson’s face softens, a gentle smile gracing his lips.
How does he make me feel like the most delicate flower, carefully protected within a vibrant bouquet?
“Bryce,” he says, and hearing my name from his lips makes my heart do this little flip-flop.
“I’m not going anywhere. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. ”
I blink rapidly. “You’re not?”
“No. You’re going to LA, and I’m staying here.
I’ll take care of Bobo,” he continues. “He’ll take care of me.
We’re both staying right here.” He pokes my chest right near my heart and kisses my forehead.
Every atom in my body lets out a collective sigh.
“And we’ll keep each other company until you get back.
We’ll talk, we’ll text, we’ll video chat.
I’ve always wanted to try cybersex. I have no idea how it works, but we’ll figure it out. Together. We’ll make it work.”
“I know we will.” I swallow thickly. “But I’ll miss you.”
“You’ll miss me,” Emerson repeats, smiling like he knows exactly how much I’ll miss him. “And I’ll miss you. But that’s how we know this is real.” He captures my lips in a delicate kiss, and I can’t help but let out a little moan. “Come on, your car is going to be here any minute.”
Emerson grabs Bobo’s leash, and even though it’s way too early to go outside, he trots over, and the three of us head downstairs.
The street is eerily quiet this early. They say New York is the city that never sleeps, but maybe between four and five in the morning, only the rats are awake.
I pass the leash to Emerson, and for reasons I can’t quite explain, it feels as though I’m relinquishing a piece of myself—like I’m entrusting him with more than just my dog, but with a part of my very soul.
I look over at Bobo, who’s staring at me with those big, sad eyes like he understands the weight of the situation too. His tail thumps against the sidewalk as I kneel to give him a quick kiss and head scritches.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, feeling my throat tighten. We’ve never been apart for so long, and the realization of how badly I’m going to miss him crashes into me. “You’re in charge now. Be a good boy for me, okay? Keep an eye on Emerson while I’m gone. Can you do that for me?”
Bobo gives me a woeful little whine and sniffs my hand. I swear, he knows something’s up. “Remember how much I love you.” I give him one last kiss, taking a deep inhale of his corn chip fur.
The car pulls up, and Emerson puts my bag in the trunk and walks back over, standing in front of me.
He reaches out and runs a hand through my hair, his touch soft and reassuring.
“I love you, Bryce,” he says, his voice thick.
“My home is right here.” Again, he pats my chest, this time tapping along with my heartbeat.
“And I’ll be right here waiting on you.”
I try to smile, but honestly, it’s too hard.
“I love you too,” I say quickly, then add, “in a ‘no, really, you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, and I’m going to miss you a lot, but I don’t want to cry in front of you again’ kind of way.”
Emerson laughs softly, his eyes lighting up with an affection that only deepens as he leans in. His lips meet mine with a tenderness that speaks volumes, and in that single kiss, there’s a connection so powerful it says what all the words in the universe never could—we’re going to be okay.
And suddenly, all the nerves about leaving don’t feel so heavy. It’s still going to suck, but I know I have something to come back to. Something real.
The car honks. The driver’s got that look on his face—the look of someone who wants to get to the airport on time. But also someone who really hopes they don’t have to hear me talk for the next forty-five minutes about how much I’m going to miss my hunky boyfriend.
Emerson opens the car door, and I study him one last time before getting in. Yes, he’s hot, but underneath that hotness is a good man. A really good man.
I give him the kind of wave that feels like I’m trying to etch his face into my memory. I don’t want to forget the way he looks, the way Bobo’s sitting next to him, both of them in their own little bubble, waiting for me to come home.
As the car pulls away, I glance back at them one last time.
Emerson’s standing there, waving, and Bobo’s right there by his side.
It’s the kind of image that, if I let myself linger too long, might break me into a thousand pieces, but it also gives me a little piece of hope to hold on to for the next three months.
I can do this. Yes, I have an incredible man by my side, but more than that, I have me. I am enough. I’ve got this.