Chapter Eleven
Taylor
Steam lingers in the air as I step out of the shower and into the towel Seth is holding open for me.
His smile is the kind that comes after the feverishness of new couples.
The one that says there’s my person, and I have no idea how that could have happened for him so fast. I know how it happened to me.
My secret gives me the benefit of years of coming to know the man behind the messages and interviews, but he’s only just met Eleanor.
I can’t keep lying to him, but the truth feels like a betrayal, too.
I was awake half the night trying to figure out what to do.
I decided to tell him the truth this morning, but I can’t.
I’m afraid to. Not only because he’ll hate me, but because it might mar the goodness in him, and he doesn’t deserve that any more than he deserves the ruse that has snowballed into heart-crushing proportions.
If I’d known we’d end up here, I never would have lied.
Hurting him is worse than my own broken heart and the fear of losing my job combined.
“Come here,” he says, pulling me into a kiss that tastes faintly of spearmint. “I could get used to this.”
That nearly does me in, because not only could I get used to it, but I want to get used to it. I want to be in this man’s arms every single day. I want to love him with everything I am, so when his head hits his pillow at night, he knows if he lost everything tomorrow, he’d still have me.
I struggle to push those wants away and follow him into the bedroom, pretending I’m not dying inside. I watch him pulling on his shorts as I pick up my clothes, his tanned body still damp, hair messy. As much as it hurts, I know I’m doing the right thing. This has to end.
He glances over, eyes smiling, and reaches for my hand. I grab my phone, and my legs move on autopilot as we head out of the bedroom. Sunlight pours through the living room sliders. I want to turn off the sun and bury my heartache in a cold pit of darkness.
Seth squeezes my hand, drawing my attention back to him. “How do omelets sound?”
“Good.” I have no idea how my voice pushes through my throat, it’s so thick with hurting.
“Great. I’ll make some for us.”
As he takes a step away, I want to tell him not to bother and that there is no us—or at least there won’t be after the truth comes out—but he turns back, catches my wrist, and pulls me into another kiss.
It’s light, unhurried. I smile against his mouth, and he deepens the kiss, one hand at my waist, the other sliding into my wet hair.
“Mm,” he says as our lips part. “I’ll never get enough of you.”
I stand there, unable to move, watching him go, relaxed and happy, into the kitchen.
He looks like a man who is exactly where he wants to be, and that’s what breaks me, bringing the burn of tears, because I can’t stay.
Not when everything between us has been built on a lie.
The weight of it presses against my ribs until I can hardly breathe.
Last night comes rushing back. The lovemaking, the way he held me as he fell asleep, and how I got up in the middle of the night and hid in the bathroom like a felon, making travel arrangements.
It’s a damn good thing I did, because as my heart begs me to stay, I use the money spent on that flight as another reason I can’t, propelling me to retreat into the guest room.
I shut the door behind me and lean my back against it.
Squeezing my eyes closed against a rush of tears, I gasp for breath, trying to hold my shattering heart together.
I feel like there’s an elephant sitting on my chest, my lungs refusing to work.
I do the only thing I know will get me through this.
Drawing on more than a decade of experience of soldiering on, I grit my teeth and fist my hands, forcing the emotions into the cellar of my being.
I nail that sucker down with every ounce of willpower I have, forcing the tears to stop, accepting, welcoming, the knots twisting in my chest like barbed wire. I deserve the pain.
Deep breaths, Taylor.
Ellie! a voice inside me screams, bringing another rush of tears.
How did he make the name I’ve abhorred feel so good?
I swipe angrily at the tears and squeeze my eyes shut again, fisting my hands tighter. Do not lose your shit. You’ve been through worse. You’ll get through this. The tears don’t abate. When did I become such a crybaby?
My father’s voice slams into me. Buck up, Taylor. You have things to do.
My eyes fly open. I forgot to check on my father.
Where is my head? That’s another reason I can’t stay.
I’ve shirked my responsibilities for long enough.
I love my sister, but God only knows if she’s been telling me the truth.
For all I know, they could’ve been skydiving or body slamming in mosh pits for the last two nights.
That’s enough to jolt me out of the spiral and flip the switch to the version of myself built for survival. I step into that armor, compartmentalizing, and steel myself against the whole fucking world. Once I’ve pulled myself together, I call my father and rattle off the morning checklist.
Satisfied with his answers, I end the call and give myself the fuel I need to get through the next hour.
I tell myself that what Seth and I had was a fling, and flings are meant to be left behind.
Clinging to that lie, instead of the bigger one, I quickly put on jeans and a T-shirt and push my feet into my sneakers.
I shove a sweatshirt into my carry-on bag for the blustery New York weather and pack as fast as I can, feeding my resolve with the truth that Seth deserves better.
By the time I’m done, my freaking heart feels too heavy to carry on.
But carry on I must.
With one last deep breath, I head out of the bedroom.
When I reach the main living area, Seth is standing at the stove, like yesterday, with the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear, laughing.
He turns at the sound of my suitcase wheels, and his laughter fades, confusion riddling his expression.
“Hold on, Gramps,” he says into the phone, and lowers it to his side. “What’s going on?”
My heart is being ripped in half, one side desperate to stay, the other needing to set him free before he finds out the truth. I force my voice to stay steady through one last, necessary lie. “I have to go. My dad needs me.”
“Hold on. I’ll go with you.”
“No.” The word slices the air, sharper than I intend. “You don’t need to. This was…” At a loss for words, I say, “This was amazing, but our lives are too far apart. It’s best if we leave it here.”
His brow creases, confusion darkening his expression. “Ellie—”
“Thank you for everything, but I really have to go,” I say, forcing a smile that hurts to make, and hurry out the front door.
Tears burn my eyes as I sprint to the rental car and throw my bag into the trunk. I climb behind the wheel with my heart in my throat, telling myself the biggest lie of all, that either of us will ever be the same again.
Seth
The front door closes before I can find the words to stop her.
I’m in shock, one hand half-raised, the other gripping my fucking phone as I try to process what the hell just happened. I put the phone to my ear. “Gramps?”
“I’m here. Everything okay, son? You sound like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Fine. I’ve got to call you back.” I end the call, and as my brain snaps into gear, I catch the scent of smoke and spin around to find the eggs burning. I shut off the stove, toss the pan into the sink, and bolt out the front door.
The sun is blinding as I run down the driveway and see the gate closing behind Ellie’s car, her taillights disappearing down the road.
“Fuck!” I stare at the empty road, trying to figure out what the hell went wrong.
My feet move out of habit, pacing, my chest constricting.
I look at my phone, still clutched in my fist, and unfurl my fingers to call her, but my gut twists as I realize I never got her number.
Fucking hell. How could I be so stupid? I pay attention to details for a living, and the one time it matters, I fuck it up.
I whip off my glasses and rub my eyes, as if I can wipe her absence away and when I put my glasses back on, I’ll realize it was only a dream. But the end of us would never be a fucking goal or aspiration. It’s a goddamn nightmare.
A long-ago buried ache claws its way to the surface, swamping me with the vast emptiness that I experienced as a kid time and time again after forging bonds that I thought were steady and meaningful, only to have them ripped out from under me every time we moved.
Over the years, I learned and adapted, until I handled that shit like a fucking pro.
Only this time, I don’t want to let her go.