Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
We manage to get through the next few hours discussing orgasms, sex, and various other random topics without any touching—accidental or otherwise. It’s been a lot of fun getting to know him in this way. He’s engaging, funny, smart—just as beautiful inside as out.
I push down the yearning and loneliness that threaten to overtake me at the thought of his departure in only two days. The topic of careers comes up when I ask him what he intends to major in.
“One of the sciences, I think,” he says. “I think I want to go into something related to health.”
“Ah, okay. Like a doctor or nurse, maybe?”
“Yeah. Or maybe even research. My uncle died from pancreatic cancer about six months ago, and that got me interested.”
I frown. “Oh, I’m sorry for your loss.”
He nods. “Yeah, thanks. We weren’t close.
He actually lived in Mexico until about a year ago, when he moved in with my grandma, my abuela, here in Oceanside.
But I remember him from before, when we’d visit down there.
He was legendary—Tío Javier, the life of the party, the loud one who never let anyone have a bad time.
” He smiles softly. “He was a lifelong bachelor, and he used to joke that he loved his dog too much to ever get a wife and make her jealous.”
I chuckle then see his eyes darken.
“After he moved up here, the changes from the cancer were pretty dramatic. He lost his spark and then just seemed to waste away. It was like he died long before he actually died, if that makes any sense.” Julian lies back on his lounger, staring up at the stars and taking a deep breath.
“As awful as it must have been for him, it was even harder seeing the impact it had on my family. Especially my mom and abuela. Seeing them watch him wither away was brutal.” He shakes his head.
“It fuckin’ sucked.” He glances my way. “Pardon my French.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and I fight the urge to reach for his hand.
“So, anyway. It made me want to help. Somehow. I want to make a difference and maybe prevent some of that suffering. I’m not sure if I want to go pre-med, or do something quicker, like become a nurse or a PA. There are a lot of options.”
There are a lot of options. So many possible roads for this young man. I love hearing about his dreams and aspirations. He has such a bright future.
“Well, Julian, I think you’d be perfect for that field,” I say, my chest warming as I glance over at him.
“You think so?”
I scrunch my face. “Oh, absolutely. You’re super smart, passionate, and you have a great vibe, a very calming presence. You’re an excellent listener, and you’re strong and capable. You’re good with your hands too.”
His lip curls up on one side.
“What? I’m serious. You are.” I can’t help but grin at him.
He chuckles darkly. “Okay. Well, thanks. For saying all that.”
“Of course. Just telling you the truth.”
He shifts in his chair, rolling over onto his side to face me. “So, what about you, Chelsea? You’re a physical therapist, right?”
I’m pleased that he already knows this about me. “Yes, I am.”
“How do you like it?”
I sigh, placing one hand on my chest. “Oh, I love it. It’s the best work on earth.” I don’t mean to be so dramatic, but I can’t help it. My work means the world to me.
His eyes are warm. “What got you into it?”
“Well, let’s see. I was twenty…” I pause, thinking. “Four. I must have been twenty-four, because Gage had just started pre-K.” My eyes flicker to Julian, and I cover my face. Julian was also just starting pre-K when I was that age. Yikes.
He just licks his lips and says nothing, watching me and smiling faintly.
“Ugh. Anyway. When I was twenty-four, I sprained my ankle. Bad, like really bad. Goofing around, jumping and dancing around with the kids, and I just rolled it.” I gesture, rolling the side of my hand down onto the other palm.
“Felt every tendon and ligament twang and my whole joint crunch as I went down. It hurt like a mother and swelled up really big.”
He grimaces, matching my own expression.
“Did you know that a bad sprain can take far longer to heal than a broken bone?”
He shakes his head slowly, brows raised.
“Neither did I. So, I went in, saw the doctor. They made sure there was no fracture, told me to stay off it, ice, elevation, yadda yadda. It got better, to a degree. I got off the crutches, was able to walk and all that. But weeks later, it was still really bothering me. Giving me a lot more pain than I was willing to tolerate.”
Julian nodded.
“When I went back in, the doc, who was surprised I waited so long, referred me to PT.” I shrug.
“Of course. So I go to PT. Within, like, I don’t know, less than two weeks, I was fine.
Totally fine. After just some ultrasound, massage, and exercises, I healed.
Completely.” I’m sure my expression is one of residual amazement, even from such an old memory.
“That’s awesome,” he says earnestly.
“Right? I knew physical therapy could help people. But I never gave it much thought until I saw it firsthand. Those therapists were legit healing people. Like magic. Like a miracle.” My eyes grow large as I say this.
He enjoys hearing me talk, if his expression is any indication. His undivided attention makes me feel like a flower in the sunshine as I go on.
“So I decided, with three young kids, to make the crazy decision to become one of them.” I point a finger in his direction. “By the way, I highly recommend school before kids and not the other way around. It was pretty insane for a while there.”
He nods, face serious, and I sigh, remembering all the hard work.
“I had to complete my undergrad and then a three-year grad program. Thankfully, the kids were in school and Rob made enough to support the family so I didn’t have to work.”
Julian scowls at the mention of my ex. I find it sweet.
“Hey, my ex isn’t the total spawn of Satan. During the early years, he was actually a pretty good husband. During the later years?” I tilt my hand from side to side. “Well, he made some bad decisions.”
Julian just sits there with a sour expression. Protectiveness is so adorable on him.
“So, anyway, now I’ve been practicing for four years, and I absolutely love it.
Helping people through hard times, seeing how far they come physically.
And mentally.” I pause. “I didn’t fully appreciate how so many PT patients have been through something awful.
Something traumatic like a car crash, where they may have also lost loved ones.
To be there for them when they need support is just…
Well, it’s my passion, I guess.” I feel my eyes prick with tears, and I swallow, embarrassed.
Julian gazes at me tenderly, like he’s fighting the urge to put his arms around me. I look down and clear my throat.
“Sorry. It’s just really amazing work. Gratifying and fulfilling. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
He just keeps staring at me then shakes his head and makes a small sound of incredulity.
“What?” I ask.
“You,” he says, as his eyes grow intense.
My cheeks heat.
“More than once, you’ve acted surprised that I’m into you, like it’s so hard for you to believe. You have no idea how amazing you are. You’re the complete package, Chelsea.”
My heart flutters in my chest, and I shift in my seat, uncomfortable at the flattery.
Julian sits up, putting his elbows on his knees and leaning so close that only inches separate us.
“You’re strong, confident, comfortable in your own skin, and you know what you want and where you’re going. It’s insanely hot.”
His dark eyes are smoldering, and it’s hard to keep my breathing in check.
“Not to mention,” he says, “I could never have a conversation like this with someone my age.”
Fair point. “Yeah,” I say breathlessly. “I suppose that’s true…”
I don’t turn to sit up and face him because I know it would bring us too close together. I just stay where I am, lying on my side on the lounge chair, dying to just reach over to him. My heart is full to bursting, and staying still is torture.
Sighing, he eventually mimics my posture, and our eyes linger on each other for a while. The realization creeps in that this is only going to get harder the longer we stay.
“It’s getting late,” I whisper. “Maybe—”
“No,” he says. “Not yet.”
Now I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment. I don’t take much convincing. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
He comes up with some questions for me about my college experience, and I ask him about the school he’s going to, how he chose it, and what his plans are. We kill another hour or so, just chatting easily under the sparkling night sky.
My eyes are getting scratchy, and I finally give in and check my watch. It’s past three in the morning. My gaze rises to his as a wave of sadness washes over me.
Is this really the end?
“I think it’s probably time to wrap this up,” I say softly.
“I don’t want to,” he says frankly, in a bratty-but-charming, youthful way.
“I hear you,” I say, in a practiced, how-to-say-no-without-saying-no kind of way. It’s a handy mom skill.
“I don’t want this to be over,” he says, his voice softening.
“I don’t either,” I say, even softer. “But it has to be.”
He stands and reaches toward me, but I draw back in my chair, my stomach tightening. “No. We can’t. I—can’t.”
“Please, Chelsea, I just—”
“No.” My throat tightens. “I don’t trust myself.” I can barely look at him. That face. His sweet face, so full of distress and sorrow. A crack forms deep inside me, and an ache blooms in my chest. I finally meet his eyes. “We have to say goodbye, and you have to go. Please.”
He takes a long, deep breath, his arms limp at his sides. In a voice filled with defeat, he says, “Okay.”
“Goodbye, Julian.” I try like hell to keep the quaver from my voice.
“Goodbye, Chelsea.” His voice is packed with emotion, like there are a thousand more words he wishes he could say.
You and me both, sweetheart.
He turns and walks through the house and out the front door. Then he’s gone.
And I break.