Chapter 46
If horses could fallin love, I’d believe Honey and Kip have followed in Garrison’s and my footsteps.
As Kip nuzzles Honey’s muzzle with his, their big bodies creating a wall in front of us while the treeline watches our backs, it’s obvious they’ve bonded over the past two months. I swallow hard at the affection the intimidating beast offers her and inwardly scold myself at how emotional I am.
I can’t help it. Every day for the past two weeks, I’ve continued to spiral, becoming more sensitive and delicate to the point of tearing up at the slightest mention of what’s coming tomorrow. It feels like there’s a stack of bricks on my chest, and with each day that came and went, bringing me closer to saying goodbye to Garrison, another was added. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to get a single breath in today.
I did this to myself. Maybe that’s the worst part. I knew it would end this way, yet I didn’t walk away. Now, I’m left with a rawness in my chest that I fear will never heal. Anger is a ticking time bomb in my chest. Anger at myself and Garrison.
If he hadn’t made me fall in love with him, I wouldn’t currently feel like I’m withering away. Like I’m preparing to lose an entire fucking chunk of myself in the morning.
Honey, sensing the mess of emotions inside of me, turns from Kip and stares at me from my position on the grass. I offer her a pathetic smile and blow out a shaky breath that I know Garrison can feel from behind me.
I’m tucked between his legs and against his chest. He leans back against a tree trunk and has his knees bent, bracketing me while draping his arms over them and playing with the fingers on my right hand. His cheek is pressed to mine, his jaw no longer covered in the hair he’d let grow out. The absence of it curdles my stomach.
We’ve ridden to this spot every day, absorbing as much time together as possible.
“Talk to me,” he urges, voice low, gentle.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything.”
“You don’t want to hear everything I’m thinking.”
My mouth feels full of cotton. Fear wraps my heart in iron shackles.
“I do,” he argues.
Tears blur my vision as I shake my head, my fingers clenching his. “No, you really don’t. And I don’t want to spill my heart to you only to have you break it early.”
The time we’ve spent together has been the highlight of my life. Waking up every morning beside him to the sound of birdsong and only a sliver of the sun on the horizon over the last two weeks was a gift. Every laugh and cry and smile that I thought would rip my cheeks led right here, to this moment. And the thought of giving him that final piece of myself, however small it is, and watching as he discards it would ruin me. There would be nothing left of me to use to pick myself back up with after.
Garrison dips his head and brushes his lips across the expanse of skin exposed between my neck and shoulder. The spaghetti strap of my dress is far too easy to tug to the side as he continues kissing me, leaving no inch of my skin cold without his touch.
I squeeze my eyes shut, the gentleness of his touch tugging at my restraint string by string until my grip on it begins to fray.
“Don’t close yourself off to me,” he pleads. “I’m right here.”
“Only until tomorrow.”
“I know.” He sounds as defeated as I feel. As vulnerable.
It’s a side of him that I doubt many have seen. His ability to show it to me right now means more than he knows. It tells me that this isn’t one-sided. He trusts me. But it still isn’t enough.
“I haven’t asked you if you’re excited to get back to work,” I say, desperate to fill the silence with something other than the words ripping me apart inside.
“It hasn’t registered yet that I’ll be in Toronto tomorrow, let alone in the office. If I even go in right away.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
He sets his lips against my cheek and holds them there as he says, “Can’t say that I think I’ll be feeling up to working tomorrow.”
“I’ve already cancelled pole for tomorrow,” I admit.
“You’re going to be fine, Poppy. You don’t need me.”
My laugh is hollowed and forced. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m not.” He hooks a finger beneath my chin and tries to turn my head, but I pull against him, refusing to look at him. “Poppy. Look at me.”
“I can’t,” I croak, staring past Honey and Kip at the guest house in the distance. A place I’ve associated as my home, not because of its steady walls but because of the man who lives inside them.
Garrison shifts, and I’m unable to fight against him this time as he leans around me and cups my face in both of his hands. He’s still gentle as he turns my head, and maybe that’s why I stop fighting.
The pain he’s feeling is reflected in his eyes as they boldly hold mine. He’s unafraid to show me that he’s struggling just as hard as I am, and when the first of my tears escapes, he’s quick to swipe it away.
“Talk to me. Please,” he begs, his voice breaking.
“I can’t. Not without asking you to stay.”
I turn in his arms and settle on my knees, staring into the full expanse of his face, memorizing every inch. He sets his forehead against mine. The exhale that escapes his lips speaks a million silent words that he’ll never say out loud.
“You don’t want me to stay. Not really. It wouldn’t work. I’ve grown to love this place, but I’d never survive here.”
One blink, and my cheeks are streaked with tears that won’t stop falling. “Why can’t you try? I can’t—I can’t let you go. I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do or think or—fuck, I can’t even breathe.” Each word is another slice of a blade up my throat.
He winces, his eyebrows knitting together. “Yes you can, Poppy. You can breathe. With me, yeah?” Taking my hand in his, he uncurls my fingers and lays them flat over his chest, where his heart rests beneath. “You’re just fine. I’m not worth your pain. You’re too fucking good for me. This town would suffocate me. You’d be the only reason to fight for air.”
“No, I’m not. You’re worth all of it,” I argue, shaking my head furiously. “I’d come with you, then. Leave tomorrow and start a new life with you in Toronto if it meant we could stay together.”
The truth of my words doesn’t have a chance to settle in my mind. I don’t give it a chance to because if I do, I’ll cry harder.
“You don’t mean that. Your home is here. With your family and friends and your career. Don’t give that up for me. I won’t allow you to.”
I do mean it. I really fucking do. But I leave it.
“Then we’ll do long distance.”
He sniffs, tearing his eyes from mine. His face blurs behind the wall of tears in my eyes.
“You’re not a woman who settles for long distance. It wouldn’t be fair to you.” His refusal leaves my chest cavity bleeding. He palms my back, urging me closer until there’s no space between our bodies. “I wouldn’t be able to give you what you deserved from Toronto.”
“Why do you get to decide what I deserve?”
“Because I love you, Poppy. And I won’t be able to live with myself knowing that you aren’t receiving the care you deserve. It would kill me to be the one responsible for it,” he says, his jaw tight. “You deserve it all. The Friday nights spent dancing at Peakside, the early morning horseback rides, and Wednesday brunches with your family. This is where you will stay and where I’ll dream of every night once I’m no longer here. It’s the only way for me to know you’re happy and taken care of.”
A sob racks through me before I throw my arms around him and bury my face in his neck. It’s too much. Every bit of it is too much. I’m being severed in two, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Bleeding out with no idea which wound to apply pressure to.
“I’m not happy, though, Garrison. Everything was perfect. Why did you have to tell me you love me now?”
He cups the back of my head, splaying his fingers to hold as much of it as possible. I bite my tongue, fighting back more sobs.
“Because you deserved to know how I felt before I left. I don’t want you to think anything other than that you were the first woman I have ever fallen in love with and that you changed my life. When my dad sent me here, I thought nothing could have been worse than having to spend two months in this do-nothing town with people who hated me. But you, Poppy?” He blows out a breath that travels over my ear. “You made this the most incredible two months of my life. I didn’t deserve it, I still don’t, but I don’t care.”
“I love you too, Garrison Beckett,” I whisper into his skin, the words truer than any I’ve ever spoken. “Thank you for making me feel alive.”
I don’t want to think about how messy my face must look as he guides my face from his throat. Our eyes catch and hold, both of us finding peace in our stare. The first brush of his lips to mine is soft, testing. The second comes a breath later, once I don’t pull away.
He tastes like salt. We both do.
Our mouths are frantic, desperate to fill the holes in our chests with a distraction. A connection that we don’t need tears and words to explain.
I reach between our bodies and undo his pants while clicking the part of my brain off that tells me this won’t take the pain away. Nothing can take the pain away. But this . . . this can help disguise it as pleasure.
Once he’s tugged his jeans to his knees, I straddle his lap and plant my hands on his shoulders for leverage. I pull my panties to the side with one hand and use the other to grip his cock, finding it hard already. Staring down between us, I guide his tip through my lips, getting it wet before notching it at my entrance and darting my eyes up to meet his.
His nod is jerky, expression pinched as he stays still, allowing me to control this moment. I whimper at the first breach of him inside of me and then moan once I take the full length, my ass touching his thighs.
“Garrison,” I breathe out, grinding forward.
He tips his head back, the strong lines of his throat straining as he breathes. I bring my hands from his shoulders up to his jaw, needing to touch skin.
Riding him with long, languid shifts of my hips, I feel my climax building quicker than I thought it would. An influx of feelings pushes into me all at once, and I simply surrender to them, letting everything go.
“In or out?” he asks, strained.
I don’t need clarification. “In.”
We move in fast forward, without a thought to the world around us. Anyone could come by and catch us. Maybe that spurs us on.
“Fuck, Poppy. Love you with everything I am,” he says, staring straight at me as we both go still, rigid.
I jerk over him, my orgasm ripping through me as I find the strength to smile and kiss his swollen lips.
“Love you with everything I’ve ever been.”
But still, it isn’t enough.