She cries silent tears, her shoulders hunched over. “Devon. No. You’re breaking up with me.”
Agony spears me, and I gasp. “Yes. You should absolutely go to CERN without entanglements. I’ll be honest; I can’t take knowing if I might not see you for a week or a month, much less years. I didn’t even want to spend one night without you on the road, Giselle. It’s not fair to either one of us, and just dragging it out would kill me.” I exhale. “This is why we never should have been together. I saw it coming, shit, from a mile away and still went right over the cliff.”
“Devon . . .”
“Go and be well, and get the fresh start you’ve talked about. Go and be the awesome, smart, beautiful girl I love.” The words are torn from me, and I rack my head for more, to be the positive she needs before leaving me for a whole new life, but I can’t think of another goddamn thing to say without breaking down. There’s nothing left anyway. I want to run. I want to go and hit something. I want to—shit, I don’t know. Crawl away and hope I feel like getting up tomorrow.
She stands too far from me, her tears silent, but I feel each one like a nail in my heart.
She’s really leaving me.
“I love you, Devon. I have for a long time. I knew for certain that night in the garage with Cindy. The words just slipped out, but they were true.”
Yeah? Maybe love isn’t enough.
The enormity of how far she’ll be away from me claws at my chest.
No more her. No more kisses. No more laughter.
Her weeping destroys me, and I shove away my anger, leaving only gnawing grief. Groaning, I scrub my face and look at her. “Baby, come here.”
She eases in closer, and I stand and pull her against me, slow and easy, as I wrap my arms around her. I kiss the top of her head and inhale her vanilla scent, rubbing my cheek against the strands. I should have told her how I felt days ago, not that it would have mattered. This is what she wants regardless.
Shoving back my own pain and the primitive instinct that battles to try to change her mind—it wouldn’t be fair—I say the things I should.
“I fell for you that first night at the barn. Best kiss I ever had,” I say, my voice ragged. “Felt that zing every time I looked at you, and I couldn’t stay away. You’re everything I never knew I needed. You’re perfect; you know that?”
And not mine anymore.
Someday she’ll find someone better. Maybe a guy at CERN. That image hurts, cutting like a knife, and I push it away.
“It’s gonna be all right. You’ll be okay,” I murmur, yearning to soothe her as my fingers drift up and down her back. “You’re going to go over there and kick some serious ass. Wear those bobby pins.”
She clutches my shirt, lips trembling, anguish on her face. “I have no right to ask you to wait for me—I don’t—but there’s no one else for me but you. Can’t we try?”
I stare down at her, misery and heartache echoing around us.
Getting pieces of her when I want everything?
When every day without her would be razor blades to my heart?
No.
I cup her face and kiss her, my mouth tender. She tastes of salt and regret, and I end the touch, taking a deep breath as we pull away and gaze at each other, her blue eyes on my green ones.
Goodbye, baby.
Chapter 28
GISELLE
“Dear, it’s eleven o’clock. Your phone is pinging. You need to get up.” Myrtle’s soft voice breaks into my reverie.
“I’m awake,” I say and wince, my throat raw and sore from the tears over the past three days. I’ve been awake since five this morning. I barely slept. Swinging my legs to the floor, I sit up on her couch, my bed since I left Devon’s on Friday. My fingers pluck at the sheets she laid out for me, trailing over the white material, thinking about Devon’s bed, his fluffy down comforter; then I’m lost in images of him. I suck in a breath as fresh emotions hit me all over again, and I close my eyes and plop back down, putting my hands over my face.
A tidal wave of regret drowns me, and I don’t want to move. I turn and face the back of the couch, pulling the quilt over my shoulders.
“Giselle. Do you have class?” Rustling sounds come as she walks in from the kitchen area and settles in a flowered armchair a few feet away.
“The fellowship takes care of my classes,” I say dully.
“Your mama called again. I told her you were okay.”
“Thank you.”
“Should we go shopping?” she asks in a gentle tone.