Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
I don’t sleep at all that night. I remember Claudia mentioning sleep problems in her early forties and wonder if this is related to perimenopause. Wouldn’t that be just great? Fuck.
Around sunrise, I finally give up and drag myself out of bed and spend the day in a fog. He’s all I can think about.
Julian. His voice, his face, his hands.
This is—what is this? Heartbreak? Foolishness? Misery? Yes to all.
I try telling myself I’m being dramatic. It was a fling. A fling we both knew wouldn’t last, couldn’t last. It had to end this way, and that’s that. Get over it.
Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.
I try comforting myself with food but find it tasteless.
Television? Can’t focus on it. Doomscrolling on social media?
Feels pointless. Who gives a shit about all that?
I toss my phone down, growling in frustration, and head into my bedroom.
The gauzy white curtains on the open windows drift inward on the breeze then flutter up as I rush past to the bathroom.
I know what I need. I turn on some soft music and run a hot bath. Sinking down into it, I finally feel a tiny measure of relief as I close my eyes and lie there with my head back, trying to let my mind go blank.
I must have fallen asleep, because when I wake, I find the water has grown tepid and the shadows outside have lengthened toward early evening. I lift myself from the water, limbs stiff from being in the confines of the tub for so long, and realize I feel even more tired than before.
After cleaning up from my bath, I enter the living room and glare at the clock. Six? It’s only six? My God. I just want this day to be over so I can go to bed.
I drop onto the couch with a groan, lean back, and cover my face with my hands. My eyes relax in the warm darkness of my palms as I take some deep, calming breaths. A knock at the door startles me, and I drop my hands, blinking at the brightness.
My heart rate picks up as I rise and approach the door, then I suck in a breath after peeking through the curtains.
Yup, it’s Julian.
I rest my forehead on the door, patting the wood with my hands and taking a breath, trying to ready myself. I already know I’m a goner.
I open it.
He looks… wrecked. He rushes in, and I close the door, turning to lean back against it and behold him.
His clothes are rumpled, and his hair is mussed, like he’s run his hands through it over and over, as he’s doing now.
His breathing is rapid as he paces back and forth, and then he turns to me, and I finally see his eyes.
When I see the abject misery on his face, my heart clenches so hard that I wince. His eyes are red, his face unshaven, and he looks so tortured that I can hardly bear it.
“Chelsea…” His voice is raw with anguish as he rushes to me, and I reach for him without thinking.
He grasps me around the waist, letting his head drop onto my shoulder and his whole body sag against mine. I wind my arms up and around his neck and head, kissing his hair and just holding him there.
My chest is so tight that it’s hard to breathe. I feel a million things. It’s a chaotic mixture of biting cold and searing heat, stuttering joy and deep despair, sordid victory and crushing guilt. I swallow back the swirling emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
He is shaking and shuddering, and I just hold him as tightly as I can, trying to take it all in, take it all away so he’ll be okay.
It physically hurts to see him in so much pain, but I am so relieved to see him at all that I can’t even rouse my panic from Friday night, when I was scared he’d fallen too far. I’m in it now, too, in deep and along for wherever this ride is going. I squeeze my eyes shut and just hang on.
When he’s finally calm enough to speak, we move to the sofa. He clutches my hand like I might disappear if he lets go.
“I had to see you,” he says desperately. “Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” I say honestly, shaking my head.
“I’m so fucked up over you, Chelsea. I’ve been going out of my mind today.” He stares into my eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
I squeeze his hand as an uncharacteristic calm settles over me while I study him. It’s like my body is responding to his distress with a balancing force, like I’m the yin to his yang. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He rubs his forehead then jumps up and resumes pacing.
“I know we had an agreement. I know it can’t work between us.
I know I’m leaving. But I—” He cuts himself off, as if he doesn’t dare say the words.
He studies the ceiling, like he’s searching for strength, then looks back at me.
“It’s crazy. It’s absurd, and it makes no sense.
” He stops, dropping down to his knees before me.
I freeze and take in a breath, my heart pounding like mad.
“I love you, Chelsea,” he says shakily. “I’m in love with you.”
And there it is.
He watches me so closely, his hands braced on either side of my legs, his heart braced to see my reaction. Time seems to slow and stretch as we sit there, locked in a charged stillness. He is so open and vulnerable, so young and sweet, and I feel a ferocious burst of protectiveness flare inside me.
I’ve done enough. I’d sooner cut off my own arm than hurt this man any more. But he still might not like what I have to say. I lean in, cupping both his cheeks. “Julian.” I take a shaky breath as my heart stutters.
His eyes are shining.
“I love you too.” And I mean it.
He exhales as though he’s been holding his breath all day, shoulders slumping in relief as he brings his hands to cover mine on his face. “You do?” His voice is choked with emotion.
I nod, flooded with relief of my own as I see the pain and tension drain from him.
“God, yes. I care so much about you, Julian. I think you’re insanely attractive and also passionate, funny, and…
well, just incredible. I haven’t found anything about you that I don’t love.
” It’s so liberating to speak my truth and tell him how I feel. Like being set free from a cage.
He gapes at me with a mixture of astonished joy and terrified longing. Like he doesn’t want to acknowledge the “but” that we both know is coming.
I decide to avoid that word. “Do you want to know how I define love, Julian?” I ask.
He rises from the floor to sit on the couch next to me and nods warily. “Yes.”
I pause. “To me, love is… a deep, powerful desire for the well-being of another person.”
He seems thoughtful, considering my words carefully.
“It’s really not about me or what I get from it. I might get to enjoy this person, spend time with him. Make love to him.” I swallow, my throat tight. “Or I might not.”
He closes his eyes as his face falls. My eyes fill with tears as my calm facade starts to crumble.
“I can’t let you throw your future away—I won’t.” My voice cracks. So does something inside me.
He grabs me and pulls me close, and we’re both sobbing. We cry because it hurts. Because it’s unfair and frustrating, and damnable, and… undeniable. There is only one path, and we have to take it, even though it hurts like hell.
He grips my shoulders and holds me away from him. “But if we love each other, doesn’t that mean we should be together?” he asks desperately, searching my eyes. “Shouldn’t we do anything and everything it takes to make it work?”
I shake my head sadly. “That’s just in storybooks and fairy tales. Reality is different.”
“But we could do it. We could make a life and be happy together.” His eyes are pleading, so earnest it makes my heart hurt.
“I married Rob when I was eighteen. I’ve been down that road. As much as I wouldn’t change how my life turned out, I don’t recommend settling down that young.” I gesture toward him. “This young.”
He lets out a loud breath, rising from the sofa and stalking over to the wall.
His frustration is palpable as he flexes his trembling fists at his sides then presses them against the wall with barely contained rage.
He lets out a roar of frustration. “I want to fucking punch something! I hate this so much!” His voice is shaking with helpless fury.
“Go ahead,” I say evenly. “I know a good drywall guy.”
He huffs a humorless laugh, and his anger deflates like a balloon.
He lowers his head, heaving a tormented sigh.
My heart clenches painfully again. As if I needed another reason to love this man.
He’s so passionate but so quick to calm from anger.
I have to bite my lower lip to stop it from wobbling as I reach for him.
“Come here.”
He notices my weepy eyes and rushes back to my side. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me softly.
“I feel lucky, you know that?” I say, trying to smile.
His expression is full of pain as his eyes scan my face. Like he’s trying to memorize me.
I tap his chest. “I got to see this heart. This huge heart you have. I’m better for having known you.”
He shuts his eyes for a moment, breathing out through his nose. “So much of what we say to each other feels like goodbye.”
I think for a moment. “You’re right. I feel that too. Like we’re just hanging by a thread and waiting for the axe to fall.”
He nods miserably, and I am gripped with an urge to fix this, to make things okay, however briefly. Our situation may be immutable overall, but that doesn’t mean we have to wallow in it.
“So let’s stop that,” I say with a sniff and a swipe across my face. “We have tonight, right? So let’s make it count. No sad faces allowed. No tears. That can all wait until morning.”
“Morning?” he asks, his eyes brightening with hope.
“Yes.” I purse my lips shyly. “If you want to spend the night.”
“More than anything.”