Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“HI,” ALEX SAYS SOLEMNLY. HIS eyes are heavy and dull, void of their usual sparkle.
I stare in disbelief. But before he can utter another word, I lunge forward, throwing my arms around his neck.
His entire body relaxes against mine. “I know you wanted space, but I had to see you.”
I silently curse myself. He actually did what he thought I wanted—what I’d explicitly told him I wanted. For him to leave me alone.
But I can’t feel sorry for myself right now. I have to make things right.
I dip back, grasping his cheeks, sorrow clutching my throat. “Charlie was here. He told me—”
“I know,” he says.
My brows draw together. “You …”
His mouth pulls into a strained smile. “I bumped into him on the way up here.”
Tears spring to my eyes, but he pulls me in close. “It’s okay,” he murmurs into my hair.
“I’m so sorry,” I say against his shoulder. “I hate that you thought I felt that way about you.”
He rubs soothing circles over my back. “You have nothing to apologize for. I should have known better then. But trust me, I know now.”
Even as I allow myself to sink into the comfort of his arms, I can’t run from the fact that regardless of what Charlie did, it no longer matters. We missed our chance all those years ago, yes, but this was supposed to be our shot at a do-over. A real chance to get things right.
Except he’s leaving.
Some small, selfish part of me was praying things were still up in the air. That there was a sliver of a chance he might turn the job down. For me.
I stiffen in his grasp, and he pulls back, sliding his fingers down my arms until he’s holding my hands. His thumb traces the curve of my wrist, and a familiar tingle races up my spine.
“When are you leaving?” I ask quietly, not daring to meet his gaze.
“Tuesday.”
The day before Sextival.
It’s not that I can’t handle the event on my own. (I can.) Or that it’ll just be me setting everything up. (It won’t.) It’s that he’s been coordinating it alongside me this whole time. He’s been my partner.
“I’m so sorry.” His voice is a harsh rasp, like brushing your knuckles over sandpaper. And that’s exactly how the words feel. Grating. I don’t want him to be sorry he’s leaving. I want him to stay.
But the last thing I want is to make him feel guilty for taking his dream job. Especially after all he’s done to get it. I do my best to smile and nod. “I get it.”
“I don’t want to lose you.” He tightens his hold on my hand. “Is there any way you’d consider coming with me?”
God, yes. Part of me wants to. In fact, part of me is desperate to. Except my entire life is here. I’ve been working nonstop for six years to get tenure.
But career aside, there’s something even more pressing. Rather, someone.
Gram.
As much as I don’t want to admit it, she might not be around much longer. She could go into another diabetic coma. Or even have a stroke. I can’t move across the country and abandon her.
I want to tell him all of it, but the tears make the words clog in my throat. I can only shake my head, a crushing weight bearing down on my ribs, stealing the breath from my lungs.
“So this is it?” His voice breaks, his eyes glassy and dim.
A sharp cramp throbs in my chest, like my heart is physically cracking. The tears break free, hot streaks running down my cheeks.
My head barely moves, but he registers it.
He leans down and presses a kiss to my temple. He stays there a moment, and all I want to do is wrap my arms around him and keep him forever. But before I get the chance, he whispers, “Bye, February.”
And then he’s gone.