11. Allie
ALLIE
“Hello, Miss Evans. This is your reminder that you are due to replace your—”
I stop the voicemail, sighing as I slip my phone back into my pocket. I’ll call the doctor back tomorrow and make an appointment to have my birth control implant replaced next time I’m visiting my parents.
I place the final perfectly rounded truffle on the wax-papered baking sheet before drizzling it with melted white chocolate and a dollop of caramel cream on top then place the two trays into the freezer.
Dahlia already made Archer’s favorite chocolate-raspberry mousse cake for the party tonight, but I decided to whip up her famous truffles—a milk chocolate ganache encased in a dark chocolate shell, drizzled with white chocolate and caramel cream—for him to take back to Texas.
They’re another favorite dessert of Archer’s, and I’m the only person who can make them almost as good as his mom.
I’ll surprise him with them before I leave tonight, but for now, I clean up Leo and Darby’s kitchen and head outside to where the rest of the family is celebrating Archer’s last night before he heads back to school tomorrow.
As I slip out the back door, the sun is just lowering over Celestia Cove. An old song flows through the surrounding speakers that seems to fit my somber mood.
…can’t live with or without you.
I make my way to where Willow and Weston sit on the porch swing.
I don’t think they’ve announced in some official capacity that they’re dating.
Willow mentioned weeks ago that Leo was hesitant about her moving on so quickly after what she went through with her ex, Parker, earlier this summer, but I guess she and Weston decided to throw caution—and the opinions of others—to the wind.
I’m proud of her for that.
I think they’re great together.
Willow has her legs hiked to her chest, curled into Wes’s side as he sits in the corner of the swing and rocks them back and forth with his feet on the deck. She lifts her head, offering me a soft sleepy smile. “Hi, Lover.”
I sit beside her, resting my head on her shoulder. “Hi.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Mopey,” I mutter.
Archer is playing cornhole in the grass with his parents and siblings. He laughs—the sound brighter than the sun in my face—at something Livia says to him, and I want to burst into fucking tears.
I know he has to leave. I know he should spend today with his family before he goes. But selfishly, I want to lock him in my apartment and keep him all to myself.
When we were children, I had complete meltdowns when I’d have to leave Archer, or he’d have to leave me—far past the age it was appropriate to do so.
Whether it be a family vacation we all took together or a weekend playdate, I’d scream and cry and stomp my feet when it was over.
I’d latch onto his arm and refuse to let go, beg to take him home with me, swear to my parents I’d never forgive them if they pulled me away.
Archer would only stand there—he wouldn’t cry or throw a fit. Always stoic, always calm. A soft breeze amidst the storm that is me. He’d never turn me away, though. He’d never tell me to stop crying or to be quiet. He’d never allow someone to take me away. He’d always hold my hand right back.
He’d try reasoning with our parents. Softly, but sternly, asking questions like, “How about ten more minutes?” or “Will you at least let me walk Allie to the car?”
He always found a way to calm me down, soothe my sorrow—make the absence bearable until I’d see him again. I know, if I began crying right now, he’d come hold me. He’d step away from every other person in his life and prioritize me until I felt okay again.
But I’m a fucking adult these days, and I can’t monopolize him like that.
“It’ll be okay,” Willow says.
“Yeah,” I breathe, unconvinced.
“Amor,” Archer whispers against my ear at the dinner table. “You’ve hardly touched your food.”
I shrug, pushing pasta salad around my plate. “Not hungry.”
His palm finds the center of my back, caressing me between my shoulder blades. “I’m going to miss you too. I’ll be home at Christmas, though.”
My nose stings—an itchy, uncomfortable tension in my jaw and scratchy thickness in my throat builds as I fight to hold back my emotions. Tears prick behind my eyes, and I’m struck with a sudden urge to leave the table.
I’ve heard him say that sentence so many times at this point, I can’t handle it anymore.
He’s always leaving. I’m always waiting. Wishing. Wanting.
We’ve been trying to fight this—trying to make it work too—since we were teenagers. I’m so fucking tired. I want to throw in the towel, give up, move on. Yet…some forces are too powerful to overcome. Chemistry, biology, that infuriating soul-deep connection between us.
I’m perpetually stuck in love, screaming into the void, begging for my white knight.
He’s already here, though—right beside me, just a step out of reach. I’m petrified we’ll spend forever like this. Fossilized.
It’s inescapable. I’m suffocating. And I can’t do it anymore.
I scoot back in my chair, legs scraping across the floor as I stand and take my plate into the kitchen. Archer’s chair moves a second later, his clipped footsteps following me as I discard the rest of my food and place my dish in the sink.
Just as I spin back around, he’s in front of me. Chest pressing against mine as he braces his arms on the counter beside my hips, towering over me. Brows drawn tight, mouth a thin line, he studies me with those blazing blue eyes, frustration swirling in his gaze.
“I think I’m going to head home,” I say, just above a whisper.
“Why?” he rasps, voice thick with concern.
If anyone in the dining room can hear us, they don’t voice it, but the conversations at the table seem to grow louder all of a sudden. Like they’re trying to drown us out.
“Did I ever tell you guys how Dal and I met?” Everett’s voice booms from the other room.
“We don’t really need to share that story.” That’s Dahlia’s muttered response.
Archer’s gaze continues boring into me. “What’s going on, Allie Cat?”
“Well now I need to know,” Livia chimes.
“Not sure you do,” Darby adds.
My gaze drifts toward the doorway of the dining room, ears perking up at the conversation happening there, but Archer’s firm grip on my chin forces my eyes back to his. “Tell me why you’re pushing me away right now.”
“Looking at you hurts me,” I murmur, strained and broken.
His eyes study mine in disbelief. “Yeah, well…” He swallows, shaking his head. “Looking at you saves me.”
His words rake my spine with a chilling bite, deteriorating the strength it takes for me to meet his gaze. My eyes fall closed, but not before a tear slips over.
The press of his thumb against my cheek catches it before it’s flicked away.
“She said, ‘We can fuck, but I don’t want to know you.’ She didn’t even want to know my name! And look at her now.” Everett barks a laugh. “She has it!”
“Mother.” That gasp was Zander’s, followed by a similar sentiment from Lou.
Archer sighs heavily, dropping his forehead against mine. “Can we go somewhere else and talk?”
I shake my head against his, exhaling with a tremble as I whisper, “There is nothing to talk about anymore. You have to leave tomorrow, and…” My voice crumbles. “I can’t watch you go again.”
I press against his chest, and he hesitates for a moment, hand sliding off the counter and brushing over my spine before he steps back. Archer drops his head, turning to the side to give me space. His jaw is tight, bottom lip quivering as I reach up on my toes and kiss his stubbled cheek.
“There is something in the fridge for you,” I whisper. “I love you, and I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t respond as I leave the kitchen, moving through the living room to avoid the dining table still filled with his family. They’re all quiet again as I pass through the foyer, avoiding eye contact.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Willow calls, tone soft and reluctant.
I nod without looking at her, slipping my purse off the hook by the front door and leaving them—him—behind.