He looks to the sky, eyes blinking away the moisture pooling in them.
“We can try long distance.” But even as I say it, I know it’s impossible. He barely has time to take a vacation.
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Ask me to stay,” I whisper. I don’t care about moving and starting again; everything I want is right here.
His eyes seem to brighten, and for a moment, I think he will.
Cupping my cheeks, he presses his lips to mine in a tender kiss that breaks my heart.
“Goodbye, Avril.”
CHAPTER8
The last box is loaded into the truck.
"We'll be there on the twenty-third." The driver shoves the clipboard under his arm and climbs into the truck.
I stand back and watch as the truck rumbles to life, driving away with everything I own and making it look so easy to move on.
I ignore the crippling grief clawing at my insides and do one final check of each room in the house. There is nothing left to pack, nothing keeping me here anymore.
I want to see Lucas. We were friends before we were lovers, and our goodbye was too quick. I'll miss him.
But if I drive to his house and kiss him one last time, I'll never make it to the end of his street before I turn back around.
A knock rattles the door, startling me.
Did the driver forget something?
The handle jiggles, and the door flies open with a whoosh.
Lucas stands in the doorway, dark circles riming his eyes and hair a tousled mess like he hasn't slept.
"What are you doing here?"
"I need you." He slams the door shut and is on me an instant later, the hard lines of his body crushing against my soft curves as his hands dive into my hair. He tugs until my chin lifts and kisses me.
Our hands fumble with buttons and zippers, our kiss only breaking long enough to strip. We fall to the hard wooden floor, backs arching, nails scratching, and hips rocking until we come together.
We lay together, a tangle of sweaty limbs and hushed breath.
I breathe deep, soaking in the scent of our love and the perfume of his skin, wishing I could bottle it for the lonely nights to come.
"You are making it very hard to leave," I say, holding back the tears.
"You make me hard. Period." His grin is wicked, his joke breaking the tension and making me laugh despite the ache in my throat.
We dress in silence, and I reach for my bag.
Another pack sits by the doorway, long, black, and bulging. It's so big—how did the movers miss it?
Lucas's fingers curl around the handle, and he lifts the bag to his shoulder. "Do you have room for one more bag?"
Pressure builds beneath my ribs until it feels like they might burst. "What do you mean?"
"I told you, I'll never ask you to give up anything." His smile is slow, steady and full of promise. "But I can't give you up. I'll follow you anywhere."