34. Layla #2
“And when you’re ready…” He pulls back just enough to look at me again, eyes shining, voice dropping to a raw whisper. “…I’ll be right here, exactly where you left me, with open arms…”
He lifts both hands now, palms open toward me, then slowly brings them back to cup my face again. “…and the same stupid heart that’s been yours for years.” His thumbs tremor the tiniest bit against my cheeks.
A quiet, broken laugh escapes him, and he presses his lips to my forehead.
Tears mix with the shower water on my cheeks.
We stand there for a brief moment, holding each other as the warm water begins to cool, but neither of us moves to turn it off.
My forehead rests against his sternum as his arms wrap around me, as if he’s trying to memorize the exact shape of my spine and the exact weight of me against him.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“I’m going to miss you so much,” I admit quietly, my heart whole yet heavy with what’s coming.
He tilts my chin, guiding my gaze back to his. His eyes are warm beneath the shower, and as droplets fall from his lashes, I see so clearly every flicker of pain, love, and resignation in them.
“You haven’t even left yet,” he says, voice low and rough, “and I’m already missing you.”
He doesn’t say anything else as he looks at me, like he’s trying to burn every detail of this moment into his memory: the way my wet lashes stick together, the flush still high on my cheeks, the tiny freckle on my collarbone he always kisses when we’re falling asleep.
His hands slide up to cradle my face again as his thumbs stroke slowly along my cheekbones.
“Fuck, I don’t want you to go,” he says finally, so softly it almost disappears under the sound of the water.
I rest my palms against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the spray, holding myself together with a strangled sob trapped in my throat.
“I hate that you have to,” he mumbles, his voice rough against my ear. His hand slides slowly up my arm as his thumb brushes back and forth. “I hate that you’re going back there, back to him, to figure things out.”
His forehead dips to mine, our noses barely touching, and I feel the roughness of his mustache. “I hate the thought of you sleeping in your apartment again.”
My fingers curl into his shoulders, holding him as the water cascades over us.
Water trails down his lashes, and I swipe it away gently with the pad of my thumb, my heart breaking at how vulnerable he looks right now.
“I hate that tomorrow morning I’m going to wake up, and you won’t be here to steal the covers,” he continues, his hand sliding to my waist. “Elbow me in your sleep, or smell like my shampoo because you used it all.”
A shaky laugh leaves me before I can stop it, and I step on my tippy toes, leaning in closer, brushing my cheek against his.
I tilt my head, pressing a soft kiss just beneath his scarred jaw, my hands move slowly up his back in quiet reassurance, wishing I could stay exactly like this forever.
“But I understand,” he whispers.
A fresh tear slips down my cheek, and he catches it with his lips.
“I can’t live without you,” he says against my skin. “I already know that.”
He kisses me slowly, caressing the peak of my cheekbone.
“I’ll be right here,” he murmurs, kissing me again, slower, softer, as if every promise he’s ever made is tucked into his touch. His forehead rests against mine as the water runs over us. “Same bar…” He kisses my temple, his thumb catching a tear before it slides away. “…same small town.”
The ache in my chest sends a consistent dull pulse, so hard it hurts, and I clutch him closer, burying my face in his neck, breathing him in.
“My heart is yours, Layla; it’s always been yours.” He kisses me again, trembling, his hand cradling the back of my neck. “…It’s always been you.” Another kiss, softer this time, lingering. “Baby.”
I shatter completely, because this man has been it for me the moment I offered to film his bar.
My hands slide up to cup his face as my thumbs brush water from his glasses, trying to see him clearly through the blur of my tears.
Pressing my forehead against his, my voice comes out wrecked and shaking. “I wish I had never met him,” I whisper, kissing him between my words, my lips barely brushing his.
He kisses me back like he’s scared too, like he’s been waiting years just to breathe me in.
“I’m going to leave him,” I say, quieter now. “I can’t keep living like this. I’m going to leave him, Reed.” I hide my face in his shoulder, sobbing into his skin while the water runs over us.
His arms tighten around me instantly as his hand slides up my spine while the other cradles my head, pressing soft kisses into my hair, my temple, and the wet corner of my mouth.
“I’ll be right here,” he whispers again, kissing me between each word. “Waiting for you, sunshine.”
I cling to him harder, shaking, letting him hold me as the steam curls around us, his lips brushing mine, my cheeks, my forehead, as if he’s trying to stitch me back together one kiss at a time.
“I’m scared I won’t be brave enough,” I whisper into his neck.
“You already are,” he says quietly. “You’re the bravest person I know. And I’m going to be proud of you every single day you’re gone. Every single day you choose yourself.”
He reaches behind me and finally turns the water off.
The sudden silence is loud.
Tomorrow I leave.
But tonight, tonight, he’s still holding me like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered.
I’m coming back to him. I always do.