The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)
My face contorts with tears.
“Only you can decide if you want this, Emily. Forgiveness is a choice.”
I stay silent.
“Do you want to walk away from me, or do you want to try and make this work?”
I don’t answer him.
“Well?” he demands.
“You know I want to try,” I whisper.
“Then stop thinking of the bad shit, and think of the good between us.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you scare me.”
He falls silent. “You’re scared of me?”
“Yes.” I nod through tears.
“Baby,” he whispers as empathy floods his voice. “Don’t be scared of me. Please, don’t ever be scared of me. I love you.”
“I’m trying.” I sob. “But I can’t help it.”
We both stay silent for a while, lost in our own thoughts.
“I want you to take this weekend to think about us. I was serious about what I said—if you don’t want to live in New York, we can move. I’ll resign from my position immediately.”
“Jameson,” I sigh. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I want you to know that you come first to me now. All of this shit—my money, my apartment, my job, New York—it means nothing if I’m fucking miserable, Emily. And believe me, I am fucking miserable without you. If you want to live in a tent in the back of bumfuck nowhere, we can.”
I get a vision of Jameson living in a tent and being eaten by mosquitos on the daily. “You idiot.” I smile softly. “I don’t want to live in a tent. I love New York. I love you running Miles Media. I wouldn’t change anything about you. Why would you think that I would?”
“Because I’m a lot to take on, I know that. You said to me once before that to love is to be brave. I need you to be brave, Emily, and move forward from all this. Please think about it. Come back to New York and back to me one hundred percent, and we can start working on a new life together. Holding me at arm’s distance isn’t the way to navigate this. We won’t be able to work it out if we’re not together.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Will you think about what you really want?”
I stay silent.
“Please, Em?”
“Yes, okay. I will. I promise.” The line falls silent for a moment, and
I want to change the subject. “What are you doing tomorrow?” I ask.
“Shopping.”
“Shopping—you? What are you shopping for?”
“Well, where do you get the tents with bathrooms in them?”