by Scott, S. L.
I push one side of her hair so it’s over her back and watch her. Watch her move with intention. She’s not just chasing an orgasm. She’s doing what she said she would. She’s making love, creating it with me.
Love. I love her so much that I can’t waste a second worrying about what might happen. I have to make her feel loved, cherished. To show her that I believe in her.
Turning her over, I take over, wanting her to feel the love she created inside me. Her hair is splayed across the pallet, a lust in her eyes when she says, “Kiss me, babe.”
I kiss her for her and me, for us. I kiss and thrust until she bites my lip and falls apart beneath me. My own releases surges through me, and I grunt against the base of her neck until my body is depleted, left only with the remains of what I hope can be rebuilt with the love we made.
She holds me, her arms encircling me, but I know I’m too heavy to stay for long. I place a kiss on her head and then move off her. Keeping my eyes closed, I rest against the side of her shoulder. This time she kisses my head, and says, “You always keep your promises.”
I’m not sure where she’s going with this, but I say, “I do.”
“Promise me you’ll always love me.” I can hear her need, the insecurities that she’s allowing to come between us.
Fuck.
Though it’s the truth, this honesty hurts because it feels more like an ending than words with a future. “I will.”
39
Ridge
Under a golden sunrise, I grab a shirt and pull it on over my head before popping open the door. I slide out and take my jeans with me, putting them on as she looks back.
“You’re awake?” she asks, coming back to the vehicle, and unabashedly watching me as I dress.
“I am.” The hour or so I got of sleep wasn’t worth shit.
Stopping a few feet away, she smiles. “I prefer you naked.” She’s sunshine. Mine. My fucking sunshine.
Keep it casual. Make her want to stay. Make her choose you. “You’re stealing my lines, sweetheart.” With my fly still hanging open, I go to her, closing the gap and kiss her, not giving one damn about morning breath or onlookers from the nearby highway.
Her hands slip under my shirt and flatten against my back. If I’m not mistaken, she seems to be holding on to me this morning. It gives me comfort. She feels like I do. She’s going to stay. I close my eyes, wanting to hold her forever. She whispers, “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night.”
I kiss her temple and then her cheek on my way to her ear where I whisper, “Oh yeah. Which part?” Play dumb. I know which part, but as much as she wants to talk about it, I don’t. It’s inevitable, though, and has to be done. She pulls back just enough for our gazes to meet, the sunrays reflecting in her eyes. Gorgeous. “You’re prettier than any desert sunrise and more beautiful than an ocean sunset.”
Shyness takes over her delicate features and her hair with a million incandescent shades of blond are highlighted by the sunlight. The palms of her hands find my chest and rest under my shirt. “You say the sweetest things.”
Kissing me on the chin, she then lifts higher and kisses my lips but lingers. Keep kissing me. As long as we’re connected physically, the rest will follow. But the mood shifts, the air getting wind of the changes ahead, and I look at her. That’s when I see it—all those fears she’s been trying to overcome coming back. I know what I’m willing to do to make her happy, to give her the life where she doesn’t live under the thumb of fear, but the sunlight of happiness. I have to sacrifice myself to be the support she needs. I push forward when all I want to do is pull back. “What were you thinking about?”
“I’m going to take the job.”
Stealing a look at her with no makeup and her hair pulled up messily on top of her head, a sweatshirt that she stole from me last night when she got cold, and her fitted pants, I fail to notice the beauty of the landscape. She’s all I see. All I ever want to see.
Swallowing my needs, I ask, “You’ll be doing marketing?”
“Yes,” she says, seeming to brighten. Taking my hand, she smiles so sweet, something I’m going to miss in my world. “You were listening.”
“Of course, I was.” My tone is curt, my heart speaking for me. “I care what you have to say.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I know. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” I just want to hold her as long as I can, so I don’t need the compliment. I need her. “Is this for now or . . .” Debating if I want to say it, my gut tells me to ask because I might not get another chance. “Forever?”
“I don’t know. I just know I want to accept their offer. It will be great on my résumé, and then I can apply back in the States—”
There’s no taking my eyes off her. Like an interrogator, I need any small detail she’ll give me from her body language to her words. “What about us?”
I hear a shaky sigh before she walks away. Her shoulders drop as she stares at the sunrise. “What do you want to do?”
“What do I want? I want you to stay.”
Looking at me over her shoulder, she asks, “In Austin?”
“On the same fucking continent.” I can’t contain my anger. “Goddamn it, Meadow, I love you.”
She’s not even surprised. I’m sure she’s been waiting for me to blow up so she can rebuild that fucking wall to keep me out. “I love you, too. So much.”
“Then don’t leave me.”
A fire flares to life in her eyes, one I haven’t seen in a while. She turns all the way around with her arms crossed over her chest. “Don’t leave you? You live in a hotel in California part time, spare bedrooms the other times, and on the road the rest. You can be anywhere. Anywhere, Dave.” Her demeanor changes, that flame still there but tinged in excitement. She rushes to me, my shirt twisted in her hands as she holds me close. “You can be based anywhere. You can come to London. You can be with me.”
Taking her by the wrists, I pull them down slowly until she releases me. “I can’t. You know I can’t.” But I can do one thing for her. I can let her go, so she knows I’ll never hold her back. Even if it means she’ll find everything she wants in London and forgets she once needed me.
Fuck. Fuck.
When I step back, she steps closer. “Dave—”
“Remember how good we are together because the rest of the world will tear us down. We’ll only have the memories.” Her struggle to figure out her next step is evident. I don’t want to be the cause of any pain. I once promised her friend I’d never hurt her, and I won’t go back on that. “Listen to me, Meadow. You’re drowning in what you think the world wants from you, expects of you. You’ve forgotten that you’re in the driver’s seat of your own life. Only you get to determine your future. Fuck society. Fuck your parents. Fuck it all, including me.”
Her decision is catching up with her heart, her emotions wavering through her words. “I know you’re right. I know, but I love you.”
“You still need to do what’s best for you.”
“I have to try. I have to do something on my own to know I can. But this is also an opportunity that I don’t feel I can pass up. It’s good money, great experience.”
“In another country from me.”
“We’re good—”
“So good that you’re leaving.”
“This isn’t a breakup.”
“Sure feels like it.”
“You don’t want me living with doubts—”
“Doubts I didn’t cause. Your fucked-up parents did, but I get to pay the price, don’t I?” I wish I could shut my fucking mouth, but my anger consumes me.
“This is why I’ve worked so hard the past four years, to earn a degree that can support me.” Catching herself, she grapples for anything to hang onto, even if for one more day. “You support me emotionally, but I need to know if everything goes away, I can survive. I may never get this opportunity again.” If everything goes away . . . And there it is.
She r
eaches out to touch me, and I let her, but we both know that our connection isn’t enough anymore.
“We should go.” I head back to the 4Runner, finally letting the cold bitterness seep into my once warm heart. “I’m sure you have a flight to catch.”
“Stop. Please. Please don’t walk away from me.”
Stopping with the keys in hand, I turn back. “I never did. It’s always you who left me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It may not be fair, but it’s true. You’re doing it again.”
“You know what? Life isn’t fair. I learned that early on. Guess it’s time you did.”
“You think I don’t know life isn’t fair? My mom is fighting for her life. You think that’s fair?”
Anger leaves her chest in a hard breath. “That’s not what I meant.” Rushing to catch me when I walk to the driver’s side, she grabs a hold of the back of my shirt. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Dave.”
“So am I.” I open the door and look at her through the glass. “Get in. We should make LA by sunset.”
I turn the key, but the engine doesn’t start. Fuck me. I try again and then once more after shifting the gears. “Fuck!” I slam my hands down on the steering wheel. “Piece of shit.”
Popping the door open, I say, “Fucking SUV won’t start.”
“Do you want me to try?”
I scoff. “Yeah, that’ll work,” I reply, sarcastically, hopping out, and stepping aside. While she climbs in, I cross my arms and wait.
She tries a few times, but then stops. “Didn’t work.”
“No shit,” I mumble, pulling my phone from my pocket.
“You’re being an asshole.”
I shrug. “So? What does it matter?”
“That’s like saying I don’t matter.”
I rub my left temple. “Are you being for real right now? You’re all that fucking mattered to me, and it’s not enough for you.”
“Mattered?”
Sighing, I try to calm down. “You’re going to do what you need to do, Meadow, and I’m not going to stop you. If I do, you’ll hate me.”
“You’re pretty high on that list right now.”
This time I walk to her, the dust rising under my feet. “But one day, you won’t hate me.” Tilting her chin up, I add, “That’s all I can ask.”
With tears in her eyes, she shakes her head. “You can ask so much of me.” Her hands are on me again, palm to heart. “Please, Dave, just ask.”
Like her, I’m stubborn and have to learn the hard way. I won’t ask because I don’t think that’s truly what she wants from me. I’m fucking proud of her for being accepted for a role she’s perfect for. And she deserves this. Deserves to give this her everything, and I won’t fucking ask her to not try. Because she should try.
But as noble as that sounds, I’m fucking angry. Angry that a job in the States didn’t come up. I wonder what will become of us but then become angry with my own selfishness.
I look down at my phone and find the number I need. Putting the phone to my ear, I plug the other so I can hear, walk away, and make the arrangements.
I find her leaning against the back bumper when I hang up. I rest my arm against the side of the 4Runner. “A car will be here in a little while.”
She opens the back of the SUV. “We should get our stuff ready.” Climbing in, I let her pack, choosing to hang out at the front and watch that sunrise we drove out here to see.
I thought things would be different this time, that maybe we were finally meant to be, but she’s right. Like last time, I won’t be the one to hold her back from achieving her dreams, even if her dreams are standing on her own two feet.
Why can’t she do that with me, or at least in the fucking States? I hated her being so far away in Austin, but it was easy enough to go see her. LA to London is a whole other ball game.
A text message gives me a five-minute warning. “The car is almost here.”
She peeks out and then drags her bag to the edge. I reach in and take it, setting it down on the ground. She crawls up front and grabs her purse, then comes out the door up there. When the car pulls up behind us, I greet the driver and give him a hundred-dollar tip to drive safely.
When Meadow is settled in the back seat, the driver gets in. Her eyes track me as I walk back of the SUV. I close the door and then make eye contact with the driver. I text him once more before I reach the car, making sure he understands. I receive a visual acknowledgment—one nod and a tightened expression. Meadow slides across the seat, but when I open the door, I don’t get in. “Text me when you get to LA.”
“What?”
“There’s a tow truck coming for the SUV. I’m going to stick with it. Rivers will kill me if I don’t.” It’s not a lie. He loves this 4Runner.
Her mouth is open, but she can’t seem to process the reality of what is happening. “I’ll stay with you.”
I shut the door, but the driver cracks the window. “Please,” she begs with tears in her eyes. “No. I don’t want to leave without you. Please come with me, Dave.” I step back as the doors lock and the driver starts driving away.
It’s bordering on kidnapping to force her to go, but it’s for her best, even if it kills me in the process.
She’s tugging at the door, but even when she gets it unlocked, the car is going too fast to change our fate. Just as the car reaches the highway, she has stopped fighting. Acceptance coming over her face as she looks back.
My phone rings. When I answer, she says, “You should have said bye even if it wasn’t a good one.”
I want to slow things down or turn back the clock even. I want to relive the last year with her again just to hear her laugh, see her smile, kiss her without worrying about time ticking down. I want a third chance to get us right the next time.
“I love you, Meadow Soleil. Remember that always, okay?”
The sound of her tears fills the line. I close my eyes, hating this goodbye more than the last.
She says, “I love you,” and then hangs up.
My body loses strength and slumps against the vehicle. Dropping my head into my hands, I lean forward, not knowing how to get her out of my head, much less my heart.
Tires come to a stop on the highway not ten yards away, and my gaze slides up to discover her standing there. A mirage in the desert. Please be real. I push off, never wanting a wish to come true more than now. The gravel crunches under her shoes as she runs into my arms.
I lift her into the air, and our lips lock together. When the kisses slow and our mouths part, our eyes open. “You’re here,” I say so dumbly, but with hope filling my chest.
Worrying her lip, she glances away. “What happens if I can’t handle it?”
Hope vanishes, and my stoic strength comes back into play. I must give her this. For her, I have to make her go. “What happens if you can?”
“This isn’t goodbye, so I don’t want to say it.”
I set her down and wipe her tears away. “We won’t then. I’ll see you later, sunshine.” I kiss those cherry cheeks that aren’t pink from love, but sadness.
“Promise me that this isn’t it?” I hate that she’s begging me. I feel like an asshole. But how do I promise her something I don’t know is true?
For me, it’s not the new beginning I want with her, but it’s not an ending to our story. “We’ll both be busy the next few weeks. The band and the South American tour, the new production schedule . . . You, packing up your life and leaving.” But looking into her beautiful eyes, I let my heart speak for me. “I promise.”
A sense of relief washes over her and with the smallest of nods, her arms return to her sides. After giving the driver a quick glare, the tension he caused disappears when I turn back to her. “I paid him a good tip to drive you safely back to LA. How much did you pay him to return?”
“Everything I had left.”
Wanting to keep her here, I shove my hands in my pockets and watch her back away to return to the car. A
breeze blows her blond hair in the air, messy and beautiful. Like we were. “Was it worth it?”
“Every penny.”
40
Meadow
“I don’t understand, Meadow.” Darcy sits across from me after making us tea. Leaning forward on her teal velvet chair, she goes on, “I saw you two together in Hawaii, listened to endless hours of you saying how amazing Ridge is, but here you are in London, dressed like a slumper on my couch.”
Tucking my legs under me on the fuchsia couch, I ask, “What’s a slumper?”
“It’s like a sloppy jumper. Look at your posture.” Darcy’s hands are in the air as if there’s no hope for me. Maybe she’s right. She adds, “Anywho, you’re changing the subject.”
“What’s the subject?”
“Nice try. You and that amazing man you left in LA. So explain again why you’re here and he’s there?”
“Because I’ve lived my whole life needing to do something for myself. When I’m there, I’m my parents’ disappointment, or Stella’s little sister. Rivers’s sister-in-law, or a student. Now that I’ve graduated, I need to be more than Ridge Carson’s girlfriend.”
She huffs, blowing a section of fallen curls away from her face. Wearing a silk shirt and pleated skirt, she holds her teacup and saucer in hand. Her casual wear is making me feel very slumper comparatively. She’s so elegant even when her hair is giving her the struggles us mere mortals deal with on a daily basis.
I tug at my alma mater’s sweatshirt and try to hide my slouchy socks under me a little more.
Standing up, she says, “Well then, it’s been three weeks. I’m not letting you sit around and pout any longer.”
“I’m not pouting.” I’ve so been pouting, but I can’t help it. I’ve doubted my decision while getting the work permit paperwork together. I questioned myself while packing up my apartment. I almost didn’t step on the plane to fly here. Even after all the weeks gone by, my doubts haven’t lessened.
She says, “There’s really only one thing left to do.”