Chapter 24 #2
“How did you get here?” he asks but then doesn’t give me the time to answer him because he pokes his head out to glance up and down the sidewalk as if to check on things.
As if just by looking he can deduce how I came to be here.
I move back slightly while he does his inspection. While his musky scent fills my nose and his chest almost grazes mine.
Because again, he doesn’t need that.
When he comes to stand straight, he warns, “Salem.”
Breaking out of my stupor, I say, “I… You’re leaving.”
At my words, his jaw tics and he asks again, “How the fuck did you get here?”
“I took a cab.”
He stares at me, immobile and frozen, his eyes dark. “Come in.”
“I don’t –”
“Just…” He sighs. “It’s cold. You’re shaking. Come inside.”
As soon as he says it in his rough, gravelly tone, I feel the first shiver roll down my spine. The first tremble of my legs, my belly.
And I realize that he’s right.
I am shaking. I have probably been shaking this whole time without my knowledge.
But it’s not the cold.
It’s him.
It’s from the sight of him, all sweaty and so familiar in his dark gray sweatpants, hanging low on his pelvis, and his bare feet. His dirty blond hair that appears dark brown right now, matted across his forehead.
I bet he was trying to kill himself again, by working out too hard.
When I still don’t move, he steps away from the door and holds it open, his biceps flexing. “Would you just get inside?”
“Right. Sorry,” I mumble, trying again to act unemotional.
Just get your shit together, Salem.
Wiping my hands down my cargo pants, I duck my head and step inside, careful, extremely careful, not to touch him.
When he shuts the door, I turn around to face him and repeat, “You’re leaving.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
His eyes go back and forth between mine for a second before he replies, “Because that was always the plan. Because I was always supposed to leave.”
Plan.
Yeah, he’s obsessed with planning.
“What about your therapist?” I ask, again all calm like.
“What about her?”
“Isn’t she supposed to have a say in when you leave?”
He stares at me for a beat. “No one has a say in when I leave.”
Right.
Not even me. Not that I ever had it but still.
He sighs again.
Although I don’t think it helps with loosening him up at all. His body, his muscles are as tight as ever. They’re almost straining from whatever is going on inside of him.
“Besides, I can find another therapist,” he says, standing tall and straight. “In LA.”
“And your team?” I swallow. “Are they fine with you coming back so soon?”
“I was always going to go back one day. So yeah.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my lips from trembling and my eyes from filling up. “But one day, right? Not right now.”
“One day. Today. Right now. What’s the difference?”
He asks the question calmly.
Very, very calmly and I bet he doesn’t even have to go to all the lengths that I’m going to. To appear this way.
Because suddenly it hits me.
He’s acting like the old Arrow. The one who used to be unruffled and determined.
Like the snow and the bite of his love that disappeared the next day, the new Arrow – my Arrow – is gone. In his place is the Arrow that I fell in love with but had no clue about who he was.
It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
A sour taste.
Like I’m drinking my own tears.
“Is it because of me?”
At this, I see a flinch.
I see the bare muscles of his stomach tightening and standing up in stark relief like I’ve punched him.
But his face shows no effect.
“What makes you think it’s because of you?” he asks in a rough tone.
“Because I love you.”
I suck in a breath at my declaration.
At my stupid, stupid declaration.
God.
No wonder he’s leaving. I just can’t stop saying it.
I just can’t stop telling him how much I love him.
When I came here I thought that I’d simply imply it. But turns out it’s super easy to say it now that the secret is out, and it’s super hard for him to hear.
Because his abs tighten up again.
So I clear my throat and amend the statement. “I mean, because I told you that I love you.”
“And?”
“And you’re leaving two days later,” I almost snap out at him, my hands fisted and my legs wide.
He notices it.
He notices my battle stance and something about that makes him sigh again.
This time though, the sigh works and he loosens up a little.
Making me wonder if this is what he wanted.
To provoke me so I’d lose my calm and become the crazy, dramatic Salem that he knows.
“Again, what difference does it make? I was going to leave anyway,” he says.
It makes a difference because I don’t want you to go, you asshole.
I wish I could say it to him.
I really, really wish that I could say it, scream it at his face and shake him.
But I can’t.
“If you think,” I begin, licking my lips, “that I’m going to throw myself at you again or declare my love to you randomly walking down the hallway or something then you’re wrong.
I got the message. I got it, okay? You don’t want my love.
You don’t need it. You don’t know what to do with it.
So you don’t have to leave town, the whole freaking state, just because I told you my feelings. ”
Okay, I didn’t mean to go off there at the end. I shouldn’t have raised my voice and bent my neck and clenched my teeth.
But I did.
Because how can he just stand there and be all unaffected when I’m going to pieces over here. When I’m shattering and there’s this epic pain in my chest and I don’t know if it will ever go away.
I don’t know if it will ever stop hurting.
He swallows then and runs his fingers through his damp hair. “Look Salem, what happened that night –”
“Can’t we just forget about it? Can’t we just forget about that night? About what I said?”
“No.”
“I –”
“I can’t forget it.” His voice rises up then. “I can’t forget… what you said.”
His jaw moves back and forth as if he’s crushing my words – those three words that I said to him – between his teeth.
“So this is for the best,” he continues. “This clean break. You go your way and I go mine. Besides, as I said, I was going to leave anyway. All of this was temporary.”
Before I can say anything else, he moves.
I watch him walk across his dull gray room and retrieve an envelope that was sitting on his desk. He brings it back to me and my hand automatically reaches out to grab it.
Like I have to take everything he gives me.
Like I’m incapable of refusing him anything.
I’m pathetic, aren’t I?
Shaking my head, I look at it. A nondescript beige envelope.
“I was going to leave it with Coach TJ, but since you’re here, you can have it,” he explains.
I frown. “What is it?”
“Application for the Galaxy’s youth program next summer. I filled it out for you. And my recommendation letter.”
My fingers spasm and I look down at it again.
My new dream, my ambition that he gave me a couple of weeks ago. Something that I never thought I could have: a goal.
A chance to play some real soccer because I never thought I was good enough.
Until him.
Until he told me that I was and made me realize that I could do it.
I’d forgotten about it actually.
Because of everything.
And I realize now that if he hadn’t given me this, I never would’ve remembered.
“You filled out my application and gave me a recommendation letter?” I repeat when I look up, feeling… floored.
Overwhelmed.
And in so much pain.
“Yeah. I…” He clamps his jaw before swallowing.
“I’ve never seen anyone like you – play like you do.
You’re talented, Salem. You’re very fucking talented and no matter what you decide to do with it, I want you to know that you have my support.
You have my belief.” He swallows again, the blue in his eyes shining.
“I believe in you. I believe that you can go places. Should you choose to.”
I could drown in the blue of his eyes.
I could drown in the warmth he’s causing in my body. I could drown in my love for him. In his belief. In me.
I could drown and die.
Not only that I could throw myself at him too.
I could throw myself at his feet, wrap my hands around his leg and let myself be dragged through the streets, trailing behind him as he leaves.
Just to slow him down. Just to stop him.
Just to be with him.
I could do all of that and I could do it all right this second.
The very things I promised that I wouldn’t do.
All because he believes in me when no one else has ever done that.
That’s why I hug the envelope to my chest and blink.
I also nod and whisper, “Thank you. Uh, can you call me a cab, please? I’d like to go back.”
His eyes flare as if taken aback. “What?”
I hug the envelope tighter, dig my nails in my waist. “Please?”
At this, resignation washes over his face and he jerks out a nod. “I’ll take you back.”
I don’t argue; the less time spent in his company, the better.
So I nod too and with a last look at me, he moves.
He goes into the bathroom, grabs a shirt and puts it on, even though he’s sweaty from his workout. Grabbing his keys with tight movements, he strides to the door. He jerks it open for me and I walk through it.
And then, we’re riding back to St. Mary’s, me sitting behind his back, clutching his rigid frame and the envelope.
Hugging the love of my life and his belief in me.
His precious, immeasurable, invaluable belief.
Like the cab ride, I don’t remember this ride either, which is a shame because this is my last ride on a motorcycle.
I always knew that if I can’t ride with him, I wouldn’t wanna ride at all.
Soon it comes to an end, my last ride.
Soon, I’m climbing off his bike and standing on the ground. I’m looking at his face, his beautiful, stunning face. Sharp, jutting features.
My Arrow.
Even though he had a helmet on, his hair’s all messy, half damp from his workout and half falling over his brows, framing his navy eyes.
Eyes that have such intense, intense emotions.
Hugging the envelope to my chest, I say, “I…”
His hands on the handlebar flex and he says in a voice that sounds both eager and low, “You what?”