by Lacey Black
When we reach his bed, he tugs on the comforter before setting me down. “Be right back,” he whispers, running a hand over my wet hair and kissing my forehead.
I hear the water turn on the bathroom, and while I know I should get up and get ready for bed, I just can’t find the energy. So, I lie still, the moonlight filtering through the windows and listen to the now familiar sound of Rueben getting ready for bed.
Tomorrow night, there will be nothing but silence.
When he returns, he doesn’t set his alarm. He crawls into bed, his arms reaching for me and pulling me close. It’s warm nestled in his arms and pressed against his chest, but that’s okay. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Even as my skin starts to boil, I just lie there and feel.
I start to wonder if he’s fallen sleep. His breathing seems to even out, his warm breath fanning across my forehead. When I make the slightest movement to adjust my arm, he tightens and reaches for me, as if he’s afraid I’m going to disappear.
The night wears on, but neither of us sleep. We don’t speak either, we just hold each other tight and try not to let ourselves think about tomorrow. At least, that’s what I’m doing. I’m trying not to freak out by being overly emotional or too blasé. It’s a fine line between being too eager to stay and too eager to go. I hate it, actually. Life shouldn’t be this complicated.
Sometime in the night, my eyes finally draw closed. As much as I’d like to stay awake, my body is physically and emotionally too exhausted to comply. At least I have Rueben. His arms around me and his steady heartbeat against my cheek.
“I’m falling for you.” It’s those whispered words I hear as I drift off to sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
Rueben
I slept like absolute shit.
The only thing that made it better was having Cricket in my arms. Everything—the ticking clock and the looming finish to our week together—hung like an anvil, heavy and despondent, but being with her, having her naked skin pressed against me, seemed to make it all a little more bearable.
When the sun starts to peek over the horizon, I exhale slowly. The last thing I want is to get up and moving, but that’s just what I need to do. Not to rush what little time I have left with her, but because I need to start pulling away before it’s too late. Before I say or do something I shouldn’t do—like ask her to stay. Her life is in California, and mine is here.
Gingerly, I roll out of bed, careful not to wake her. Sunlight reflects off her long, brown hair, and something tells me I’m never going to look at morning light the same way. I open my dresser and find a pair of lounge pants. After slipping them on, I slide my glasses onto my face and really drink my fill of the beauty in my bed. Her hair is splayed against my pillow, her mouth slightly agape in relaxation. The blankets dip low, revealing a nice view of cleavage. She’s like a wet dream come to life.
Instead of doing what I’d rather do—which is crawl back into bed with Cricket—I slip out of the bedroom and head downstairs. The sun has risen and the birds are chirping. Opening up the deck door and front window, I let the warm breeze blow through the house and get to work in the kitchen, flipping on the coffee pot. I’m not a huge cook, but I manage. I chop up some mushrooms and peppers and throw them in a small pan. Next, I dice some sliced ham and cheese and add them to the mix, finally adding half dozen eggs to the concoction.
I flip the omelet over and plop four slices of toast in the toaster. The minute they start to pop up, I slather them in butter and toss them on a plate. I remove the omelet from the pan and cut it in half, placing a half on each plate. Adding the buttered toast and two cups of coffee, I take my tray (cookie sheet) up the stairs and to my room.
When I enter, I’m surrounded by her scent. Cricket is a goddess, all wrapped up in my blankets, and like the goddess she is, draws me to her. Carefully, I set the tray on the nightstand and crawl onto the bed. She stirs as I reach my hand over and swipe the thick strand of brown hair off her cheek. Then, I follow the trail of my fingers with my lips. “Good morning, sunshine,” I whisper.
Those emerald eyes slowly open and a small smile spreads across her lips. “Morning,” she says as she stretches beneath the blankets, the material falling below her breasts as she moves her arms over her head.
I ignore the desire swirling through my body and thickening in my pants. Now isn’t the time to have Cricket. We’re down to mere hours left together, and the last thing I want is for her to think I’m only after sex. What I want from her is so much more than a physical release. I just have to figure out a way to tell her.
“That smells delicious,” she mumbles, sitting up and grabbing for the sheet to keep her covered.
“Well, I’m hoping it tastes as good as it smells,” I confess, grabbing the tray and setting it on the bed between us.
Sheet forgotten, she reaches for the coffee and takes a sip. I hand her a fork and watch as she dives into the omelet, devouring half of it in no time, as if she hasn’t eaten in days. “Oh my God, this is so good,” she says, her mouth full of food. Smiling, I grab my own fork and take a hearty bite of eggs.
“I accepted the job,” I tell her between bites.
Her entire face lights up with excitement. “You did? That’s so wonderful.”
Shrugging, I reply, “Well, the money’s hard to pass up, but I get to work from home too. I’m not sure about working for the government, but if it doesn’t work out, it shouldn’t be too hard to find something in my field again.”
Cricket smiles, her damn face lighting up and making my heart trip over itself in my chest. “I’m proud of you.”
We chat through breakfast, but we stay away from anything heavy. Mostly the warm weather, the amount of time it took me to update and renovate this aging cabin, and how many times I’ve seen bears. We avoid all of the things that really matter, like how would we make this work long distance and what if we can’t find time to schedule another visit. Those are the things I don’t have answers for. Not yet. So I keep them to myself.
After breakfast, we snuggle in bed, watching the clouds roll in and the sky turn a darker shade of gray. Just like my mood, I can feel the storm looming in the near future, and also like my mood, I can’t do a damn thing to stop it.
My eyes keep watching the clock, and the closer it gets to the witching hour, the more tense we both get. When I know it’s time to start moving or risk her missing her flight—which wouldn’t be that bad—I take her by the hand and lead her to the bathroom. I crank up the water, getting it as hot as I can without burning our skin, and help her inside.
This shower is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. There are no words and even no sex. We spend thirty minutes touching each other, as if it could be the last time. I memorize every curve of her body, caressing every square inch. I pretend not to notice the extra wetness on her face, allowing the shower water to wash away those tears. But I know they’re there. I’ll remember them for the rest of my life.
After our shower, I wrap us both in a thick towel, and we start the painful process of getting ready for the day. The atmosphere is somber, the air thick with pain and regret. Not regret of what has happened, but regret that our lives are in two different places. Sure, easy fix, you’d say, but there’s so much more to it. My new job. Her job. Mortgage and rent payments. Plus, there’s the fact that this relationship is so new, we haven’t even really had a proper “dating” period. We skipped right over it and jumped headfirst into practically living together and meeting each other’s families.
Not to mention that it all started with a lie.
A tiny little fib.
I know we’ve done this all backwards, and it’s going to take time to straighten out. The problem is we just don’t have any time left.
As we head to the airport, our fingers entwined, I just don’t know what to do or say. The one thing I know as certain as my name is: I don’t want her to go.
Chapter Nineteen
Cricket
As
far as days go, this one’s pretty fucking shitty.
It’s not the company, not in the least. It’s not the gloomy, rainy sky that really just seems par for the course. It’s not even the fact that I’m heading home with more questions than answers. It’s the fact I’m leaving Rueben behind. My friend. My lover. The one I’ve grown so incredibly close to in the last week that the prospect of not waking up beside him tomorrow weighs heavily on my heart. The one who makes me smile and be a better me.
The one I’m falling in love with.
I tell myself a thousand times over I won’t cry as we approach the McGhee Tyson Airport. I won’t let myself get lost in the sadness of the moment, but will rejoice in our time spent together. It’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, right? Bullshit. This sucks.
He doesn’t pull up to departures, which I’m grateful for. Instead, he heads for the parking garage and finds a spot near the entrance. With heavy legs, I start to exit the SUV, only to find Rueben there, offering me a hand. When I take it, I ignore the tremble in my fingers. If Rueben sees it, he doesn’t say.
At the back of the vehicle, he pulls my big suitcase out, locks the doors, and pulls it toward the entrance. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me close as we walk side-by-side through the dark, wet parking garage and into the bright yellow airport lights.
He hovers at my side as I check in, taking my bag over to the counter to help me check my bag. I have my carry-on and purse with me, and the moment his hands are free of my big bag, he takes my smaller one and throws it over his shoulder.
Then, we head to security.
My throat is so tight, I’m not even sure how I’m breathing. Emotions clog my airway and those pesky tears cloud my eyes once more. When we reach the point of no return, I turn in his arm, his body wrapping around me in comfort. My body shakes as the tears come hard and fast. He doesn’t care though, just lets me cry into his T-shirt and rubs soothing circles on my back.
“This week was the best I’ve ever had,” he whispers, his own voice thick and raspy.
“Me too,” I tell him, pulling back just enough to glance up. His eyes are shiny, and he doesn’t seem the least bothered by it. His tears don’t fall like mine, though.
“I…” he starts, clearing his throat. “Cricket, I… I don’t want this to end.”
My heart starts to beat a little harder than before, which considering it was pounding so loud I swear everyone in the airport could hear is really saying something. “I don’t want it to end either.”
He gives me a smile of relief. “Okay. So, we have a lot to think about, right? I mean, the logistics of this aren’t going to be easy.”
No, it’s going to be downright hard.
“With me starting my new job, I just don’t know when I can get away for a visit yet. And you, I know it’s not easy for you to get time off.”
Realization weighs heavily on my chest. He’s right. There are so many things working against us in this moment I’m not sure if we can actually make a long-distance relationship work.
I nod.
“I’ll call you or text every chance I get, okay?”
Again, I nod my head, unable to find the words to ease the discomfort settling into my chest.
Rueben pulls me back against his chest and squeezes tight. “I promise we’ll figure this out, Crick.”
“We will,” I find myself saying, though in my head, I just don’t see it happening.
Before I pull back, I inhale against his shirt one last time. I want to remember the exact way he smelled as I’m traveling to the other side of the country, away from the man I’m falling in love with.
When I pull back, he swipes at my tears, his eyes so full of longing and regret. “I’m going to miss you,” he says, giving me a small smile.
“I’ll miss you too.”
He places his lips on mine and just holds them there, savoring the last and drawing out our connection just a little longer. When he finally pulls back, it feels like my heart is being ripped from my body. Rueben lets go of me and takes a step back, removing my small bag and handing it to me. Our fingers touch as I take the bag, that familiar sizzle of electricity still ever present.
“Bye, Ruby,” I tell him, trying with everything I have to put on a brave face and give him a grin.
“I’ll make you pay for that,” he says, but the words hold no bite. Instead, they hold regret. Probably because we both know it may be a long time before he can make good on his idle threat.
If ever.
“I’ll hold you to it,” I still reply, goodheartedly, even though it feels anything but good.
My heart feels bad.
Horrible.
I give him a little wave, paste on my best “I got this” smile, and turn toward the security gate.
“Hey, Crick?” he says, making me stop and turn back around. “I’ll see ya soon.”
The flood of tears rushes my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not yet. When I fall apart—and heaven knows it’s coming—it’s not going to happen at the airport. Not with Rueben standing right in front of me in sexy worn jeans and a tight T-shirt. Not with those intoxicating chocolate eyes staring at me, witnessing my breakdown.
So that’s why I lie.
That’s why I say, “See you soon.”
Even though I know I won’t.
With a quick wave, I turn back to security and get in line. I don’t glance behind me again. Not because I don’t want to see him standing there, watching me go, but because I don’t want to risk him not being there anymore.
I keep my eyes forward.
On heading home.
Even though my heart will be left behind in Tennessee.
***
Saturday morning is rainy and shitty. Shitty and horrible and…yeah.
Shitty shitty shitty.
Worse? My texts from Rueben last night were… different. Cordial, yes, but there was an underlying sadness in our normal pleasant conversations. I was exhausted by the time I reached home, after four hours of flying and then public transportation to get me back to my San Francisco neighborhood.
Even worse yet? My cell phone is ringing for a second time this morning with a number I had hoped I’d never see again.
Danny.
I’m about to let this one go to voice mail, but realization hits me. He won’t let this go. He’ll keep calling and calling until I either change my number or answer the phone. So, I do the one thing I don’t want to do yet need to do to move on.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Cricket, it’s Danny.”
“Yeah, I know.”
There’s silence for a second before he replies, “So, you still have my number programmed into your phone?”
I exhale. “Yes, I left it in my phone, but changed your name to Asshole. I wanted to make sure I always knew if you were calling.”
He chuckles. “Ouch, Crick.”
The way he says my name causes pain to shoot through my chest. Danny has never called me Crick. It was always Rueben’s nickname for me.
“What do you want, Danny?” I ask, annoyed that he’s ruining my Saturday of sulking and whining.
“I take it you haven’t checked your email?” he asks.
“No.”
“Well, after we talked at the brunch, I got the vibe that you weren’t interested in the co-host position in LA. So, I came back and talked to my producers. They’ve gone to the bosses, who have made you a new offer.”
“A new offer?” I ask, trying to keep up, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention to him in the beginning, so now I’m left trying to figure out what he’s talking about.
“A beautiful offer, Cricket. One that gets you to LA and on my television set by Monday morning.”
“What?” I gasp. Is he high?
“True story, love. They’re prepared to buy you out of your rental contract and put you up in one of our station-owned condos temporarily. They’ll pay for your entire moving costs,
as well as offer a sign-on bonus to be here Monday morning.”
“Hold on,” I tell him as I grab my laptop. I boot it up and retrieve my email. There’s one from Thursday, addressed to me from the man who offered me the job weeks ago. I pull it up and start to read.
Wow.
That’s their offer?
No wonder everyone jumps ship from our small station to climb the ladder at the larger stations. Not only is the salary about seventy-percent greater than the one I have now—and I’ve always thought it to be a great wage—the bonus is enough to get me out of the shoebox I’m living in and into a decent-sized apartment with neighbors who don’t sell questionable products out their back door.
“Are you there?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, scanning the email once more.
“So, as you can see, it’s a logical move up for you, Cricket. You can drive here today, get settled in your new place, and be ready to start Monday morning,” he says, as if it were the most reasonable explanation ever.
My heart starts to gallop and I’m having a hard time thinking, let alone sucking sweet oxygen into my lungs. I get up and start to pace, taking my small bag from the counter and emptying the contents. Danny continues to talk about the station, as well as how successful he is, but my mind is reeling.
I glance down and look at the object in my hand. It’s the coffee mug I bought at that little souvenir stand in Gatlinburg. The match to the one Rueben has. Tears well in my eyes for like the four thousandth time since I’ve returned to California. The familiar ache is there, front and center, and holding the mug in my hand is just another reminder of what’s back in Gatlinburg.
I catch pieces of his pitch, and he doesn’t seem to realize the conversation is completely one-sided. He wants me to move to Los Angeles and work with him.
“No,” I interrupt, with a little too much force.
“No?” he sputters