“You gave up.”
“On what?” My voice booms, and I flinch because my head is so damn dizzy. I force my gaze to stick to his. “On what?” I say in a softer, defeated tone. “Eight years?” My voice cracks. “You wanted me to what? Write you letters for eight years? Call you to tell you how fucking wonderful it was to not know if I’d ever see you again? Text you photos of my tears? Stalk Morgan on social media in hopes of catching small glimpses of you? Suffocate on my heart in my throat every time I hear Morgan and Gabe on FaceTime because hearing your voice just …” I pull the neck of my T-shirt up and wipe my eyes. “It h-hurts.” Releasing my T-shirt, I rub my aching temples. Turning my head away from him, I roll my quivering lips together as more emotions blur my vision. “Missing you … it hurts too much.” I grab the doorframe to steady myself. Then I force one foot in front of the other, making my way toward the elevators with a little more coordination.
I never wanted this. Blame. Why does it have to be anyone’s fault? He did the right thing for the right reason. I did the right thing for the right reason. Our reasons are just two thousand miles apart.
CHAPTER FORTY
Nathaniel
I have conferences at the hotel. After the university gave me the position, I knew I’d have a lot to do to be ready for fall classes. Of all the conferences … of all the hotels … how does she end up here?
Why was she drunk in an elevator with another man’s hands on her?
The rest? I know.
I know why she didn’t respond, why she let us go. I felt the same pain. I still do. I feel the impossibility of it all. Sometimes, you just want the impossible.
It takes everything I have in me to not chase her. Fuck the “hot” guy next door. Fuck the guy in the elevator with his hands on her. My hands shake as I fist them. They want to touch her so badly.
As I relax them, I remind myself that I have nothing new to offer her. So what if I catch her?
So what if I make up for nearly a year of not getting to touch her. Then what?
More letters?
Total disruption of two kids who have roots, friends, and lives they’re navigating with one parent? Who makes the sacrifice? The boy who lost both of his parents? Or the girl who kissed her mother’s gravestone, three blocks from our house, and whispered, “I’m home, Mom.”
I could have called.
I could have texted.
When you have nothing to offer … it’s best to just let go.
The next day I make it to the conference downstairs early so I don’t miss out on the coffee and bagels. Yesterday, I made the mistake of assuming there would be enough to go around. Wrong.
When we break at eleven thirty for a ninety-minute lunch, I head back to my room to call Morgan and my parents. She’s staying with them while I’m here.
The elevator doors open, and fate lands a hard punch in my gut. All reason and common sense that took place last night, during the little pep talk with myself, vanishes.
Poof!
Gracelyn looks up at me through thick mascara-covered eyelashes. Sexy as fuck red lips, glossed to perfection, rub together. My gaze can’t decide where to stay.
Long, auburn hair curled in flawless waves.
Dangly diamond drop earrings.
A pink flowing dress that exposes all of her shoulders.
Gray heels that are just …
Fuck me …
I step on to the elevator. She gives me a shy smile and tries to move past me. I don’t let her pass.
“Um …”
The doors close behind us.
“I need to get off.” A nervous laugh escapes her as she nods toward the door.
I press the button to my floor before taking a step closer. She retreats, her hands grabbing the rail to steady her. Her gaze falls to my lanyard. “Conference?” she asks before swallowing hard.
“You’re making it really hard to pretend you’re not here.”
Whisky eyes flit up to meet mine. “I need to get off. I have a wedding to attend.”
I bend down bringing my lips a breath away from the skin along her neck. Without touching her, I make an invisible path from her shoulder to her ear with my lips.
She gasps and holds that breath.
“In case you were too drunk last night,” I whisper. “I’m in room 923. And I’d be happy to help you get off later.” The elevator stops on my floor.
Her lips part, and she blinks slowly at me as I stand straight and exit the elevator. I have no clue what my plan is or if she’ll find me later. My forty-seven-year-old brain should have the maturity, education, and life experience to think of something logical and brilliant. In the meantime, my dick is thinking of how badly it wanted to fuck her right there in the elevator.