Chapter 31
SUMMER
“Summer?” Daniel grumbles, lowering my arm from his chin.
He’s so gentle, as if the bruises on my body from the crash are much worse than they really are.
“It’s a little tight around the neck.” His bobbing Adam’s apple tickles the inside of my elbow as he clears his throat. “Any reason you’re squeezing so hard?”
“I want you to stay,” I say, jutting my bottom lip out. The idea isn’t revolutionary—I’ve said it a million times in the past few hours. He just likes to hear me say it.
Hooking his fingers through a small opening under my arms that I left unguarded, he manages to loosen my hold on him and take a deep breath like I’d cut off his air circulation. And people call me dramatic.
“I don’t want to leave either, but think of all the things you can accomplish at the cottage without me bugging you.”
“You never bug me.”
“You’ll be so busy, you’ll barely notice I’m gone.”
“Impossible.” I steal every opportunity I get.
Diving into the exposed nook of his shoulder, I drape myself over him, hoping I can keep him from leaving.
It will never work, and I know it can’t work.
He must go back to the city. But lying this close to him gives me comfort, like there’s a chance one day that things will be different …
and he can stay. “Can’t you stay one more day?
” I ask, the words slightly more of a beg than I care to admit.
Rubbing my back gently, he slows his hand.
He might like me to ask him to stay, but it only makes it harder to actually leave. We both know that our time together is up. The deed must be done, whether we hate it or not.
Each visit we manage to squeeze in makes it that much harder to part. I thought, or maybe hoped, that it would become natural to see him here and there. That I would be able to go about my life without his presence, as if half of my heart wasn’t missing.
I was wrong.
His touch lightens even more as he drags his calloused fingers along my spine. My lashes drift closed as I listen to his heart beating steadily in his chest. Breathing him in, I could fall asleep without much effort. When he yawns, I know he could, too.
It was a late night. We stayed up much longer than we should’ve because sleeping when we only have precious hours together feels like a waste.
He tended to my wounds—a slight cut to my arm, a big bruise on my leg, and a knot on my forehead.
I, in turn, tried to kiss away the pain from the bruise on his ribs he received from the end of a hockey stick.
It was a tender, sweet night that flowed at a slower pace, allowing us time to appreciate the small details like a tiny birthmark on his back and the thin scar that remains on the front side of my hip from a rope swing accident when I was twelve.
So different from our usual nights together. But I wouldn’t change it for the world.
“I wish I could stay another day,” he finally replies, his voice low. “Three weeks of intensives with the new players start in about . . .” He glances at the clock on the nightstand. “Four hours.”
Ouch.
My heart sinks as guilt riddles me. Complaining won’t help, but it will make him feel guilty as he makes the long drive back to the city. He’d stay if he could. He just … can’t.
Tracing a figure eight on his shoulder, I sigh. “There’s enough time for a quick nap before you head back.”
I love the span of his hands when he holds onto me, covering my entire rib cage effortlessly. Sliding them over my hips, he clamps down on the cushion of my backside and gives it a good squeeze. “Yeah, we could nap,” he says playfully. “Or . . .” He palms me until his fingertips bite into my ass.
With my cheek against his chest, I smile. “Yeah. Let’s do that instead.”