The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (310 page)

At my words, the skin around her eyes tightened and I realized I’d just reminded us both of the season—and what was coming. Damn. Nice one, Ford.

She slid her arms free and let them hang at her sides. The separation was subtle but it spoke volumes. “I’ve never dreaded cool weather so much before,” she admitted.

Her eyes were already pleading with me, and I had to force myself not to look away or just leave. I hated being the villain. “Me too,” I agreed.

“Really?” She frowned and I knew what she was thinking. Leaving was a choice. If I didn’t like it, I could choose different. She wanted me to choose her. But for me, it wasn’t like that. Leaving was something I needed to do. I couldn’t explain it. Not to her and sometimes, not to myself. Mostly, I had to leave so that I didn’t stay.

If she wondered at my silence, she didn’t press it. “I know you’re wondering why I called you up here today,” she said. I grunted an agreement. “You leave in a week,” she said as if that explained it all. And it did.

“Yeah,” I said quietly.

“And I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Me too.”

Her gaze sharpened, like she was searching way too deeply into my words. It made me uncomfortable and I took a step, needing to move under the weight of it all.

She held my eyes a second longer and then dropped her head, shaking it in frustration. “This is much harder than I thought,” she said.

It hurt my chest to see the pain in her eyes. I reached out and took her hand, pulling her close to me again. “Just say what you feel,” I whispered.

She looked up at me through lowered lashes. “I feel like I’m losing you,” she whispered back. “And I don’t want to.”

There it was. The pain in my chest twisted, digging deeper until it was lodged so far inside, there would be no removing it. “I don’t either,” I said.

She bit her lip. She wanted to say it. I could see it written plainly on her face. “But ... it’s your choice. This is what you want.”

I sighed. “I don’t want to lose you any more than you want to lose me.”

“Then stay.” The fact that she’d said it aloud seemed to surprise her. I wondered if she’d actually planned on saying it outright or just beat around the bush hoping I’d say it for her. But it was too late to take it back. She forged on, “I didn’t plan on saying that. But I’m just so angry.”

“At me?”

“Some,” she admitted. “Mostly, I’m angry at fate or destiny or whatever. You talk about the universe sending us what we need and all of that but why would the universe send me the very thing I’ve always needed and let me love it more fiercely than I’ve ever loved and then rip it away?”

I didn’t answer. For the second time today, she withdrew her arms and put distance between us. I knew what she wanted me to say, but I couldn’t do it. She was pushing me and I couldn’t help but feel defensive—and want to push back.

“How do you know this is what you’ve always needed? You don’t know what you want, remember?” I asked.

I knew I was pushing back in a direction she didn’t want me to go, but I couldn’t help it. I was leaving. She was supposed to let me. It would be sad and epic and heartbreaking but it was the right thing—or at least that’s what I told myself, because the alternative scared the shit out of me.

“I didn’t when I met you,” she agreed. “I had an idea and then the rug was ripped out from under me. Being with you helped me see ... I was wrong to want an idea of a person. It’s you, Ford. There’s no mold to fill or list to check off. It’s not about qualities in a personality or playing it safe. It’s just
you
.”

“It’s about more than that,” I said stubbornly.

Her eyes flashed with determination. She didn’t understand I was disagreeing with her and she continued, her voice rising passionately, “You’re right. It’s about being shaken—and letting go enough that when the pieces fall, you see the real you in what’s left. You saw the real me before the dust settled.”

“Summer, I—”

She cut me off, determined to say it all, and I let her. “You make me so full of whatever this is, I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t take in anymore because there’s no room for anything but you. It’s only you. And as unsettling as it is, that’s not going to change.”

I both hated and loved the sound of her words and the truth in her eyes as she said them. It was everything I wanted to say and couldn’t. For just a moment, her words and the magnitude of them had me imagining what it would be like to throw it all away and do what I knew she was about to ask.

“I know we agreed from the beginning how this would end. You never lied or gave me false hope and I respect that. And there was a big part of me that didn’t want to bring it up because I wanted staying to be something you chose, but love has a way of eclipsing pride. Besides that, you’ve taught me to stand up and ask for what I need. So, I’m asking now. Stay, Ford. Please?”

Ford

“Risk means 'shit happens' or 'good luck.’”

―Toba Beta,
Betelgeuse Incident

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I
turned the key in the ignition and was rewarded with a throaty growl as the truck sprang to life. Darla whined at being revved so early in the morning. She was testy in the cold, something I wasn’t looking forward to in Dakota. Okay, one of a million things if I was being honest.

It seemed honesty was catching around here. First, my parents. Although I wasn’t convinced they weren’t full of shit. And then Summer. She’d asked me to stay. To
stay.

My eyes burned at the memory of her standing on that hillside, bathed in the sunset, tears streaming down her face unchecked. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until I’d reached out to wipe away a tear. But by then, it was too late. She’d seen the answer in my expression and she wouldn’t have it. She’d ripped free of my grasp and stormed off, walked all the way home while I drove close behind in case she changed her mind about refusing the ride. She hadn’t. It was the most painful—and most awkward—four miles of my life.

It would only take two little words to end it. To transform the anguish to joy—hers and mine.
I’ll stay.
If I’d just said those words, her tears would’ve vanished. We could’ve ridden off in the sunset together. Or better yet, sealed it by making love in the grass right there on the hill.

But I couldn’t do it.

Or I wouldn’t. I didn’t know which anymore.

I shook my head and went inside for the last of my bags. Today was moving day. On to the next adventure. The next step in the journey. Emptiness threatened to overwhelm me at the thought of experiencing any of it without Summer beside me. I shook it off and forced my feet up the stairs. I wanted this. I chose it, dammit.

Casey stood at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and eyeing me over the rim of his mug.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I said, slinging a green duffel over my shoulder.

“Like what?” His eyes were wide with feigned innocence.

“Like I just broke up with you.”

He snorted. “Didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer. He followed me out to the truck, and when I’d finished arranging my bags, I gave him a handshake that turned to a quick one-armed hug. “Look out for her,” I said.

“You know I will. But the job is yours if you change your mind.”

“I ...” I couldn’t finish. There was nothing to say. I desperately wanted that job. The thought of someone else looking out for her, being there for her, doing
anything
for her made my blood boil. But it wasn’t enough of a reason to stay. So far, nothing was. I wondered if that said more about me than her. “I didn’t want it to end this way, man.”

“You should call her. Tell her that yourself.”

I shook my head. “She said she didn’t want that. Said a clean break was best after everything.”

“And you’re going to listen to her? Man, you’re thicker than I thought.”

“I couldn’t give her what she wanted. I have to respect her wishes, Case.”

“Yeah, you do. Since you obviously don’t respect yourself.”

I narrowed my eyes and opened my mouth, ready to demand what the hell he meant by that. But then I thought better of it. Maybe I didn’t want to know. Maybe there was too big a part of me that couldn’t handle the answer.

“I gotta go,” I muttered.

I waved one last time, climbed aboard Darla, and left Grayson County—and the girl of my dreams—behind.

Summer

“Don't worry about hurting me, if that's what you're afraid of. I want to get hurt. At least I´ll feel something for a change.”

―Katie Kacvinsky,
Awaken

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O
range paper bags with jack o’ lantern cutouts littered the walk from the front door to the garage. I stepped over the remnants of a fake web and cut across the grass instead, zipping my jacket as I went. The cold was still more of a hint than a real thing but the chill that clung to me wasn’t from the weather and never seemed to leave. Even when I stood under the spray of my shower at maximum heat, I was perpetually cold. Unless I drank. Which I hadn’t done after that first week. Casey had made me promise.

Metal clanged and curses flew inside the garage. Casey’s scuffed boots stuck out from underneath the hood of my dad’s truck. Wrenches, an oil pan, and blackened rags were spread around the floor within arm’s reach from where he lay. Frank stood nearby wearing a flannel jacket I gave him four Christmases ago, a beer in his hand. He was trying not to laugh at Casey’s creative use of the English language.

“Hey, Summer,” Frank greeted as I walked in.

Casey slid free of the truck and looked up at me from the wheeled cart he lay on. His cheeks were dark with grease and his forehead shone with perspiration despite the chill in the air. “Thought you were cleaning up the trick-or-treating damage,” he said.

I shrugged. “If I slack long enough, Mazie will pay the neighbor kids to do it.”

“I like your go get ‘em attitude,” he said.

“I thought you were supposed to start sealing the houses today,” I pointed out.

He grimaced. “You think the neighbor kids will do that too?”

Frank snorted. “Sure, we’ll just give ‘em some bubble wrap and Scotch tape and see what they come up with.”

My dad walked in behind me, his hand pressing against the small of my back in a gesture meant to be comforting. “Hey,” he said, giving me a forced smile.

I didn’t answer. In the beginning, I’d tried forcing myself to smile right back, but that got old fast. I’d quit pretending right around the time I quit drinking. Three weeks later and I still didn’t have the mental energy to do more than go through the motions.

“Mazie says she’s got a hot chocolate with your name on it,” my dad said.

“I’m okay,” I told him with a shrug.

He frowned but deliberately brightened almost immediately. Sometimes it made me feel bad to see him trying so hard when I gave so little effort back. “Your mom’s coming by later. Said something about getting you to ride into town with her for furniture.”

“Furniture for what?” Frank asked.

“Some house she’s listing off Culver Creek Road,” my dad said.

A sharp pang rocketed through my chest. My throat tightened and my eyes instantly burned with unshed tears. It was ridiculous how my body reacted to the mere mention of the road that led to our hillside. I hadn’t been back there since the day I’d asked Ford to stay. The memory of his expression, the fear and finality I’d seen in his eyes even before he’d spoken the words, “I’m sorry,” had crushed me.

I should never have asked him to stay. Should never have said the words out loud.

We’d had an agreement all summer. In the fall, he would leave. In the meantime, we would love each other. The fact that it ended didn’t detract from how special it’d been while it lasted. I stood by that belief even now. Especially now. In the moments when the pain crippled me and made it hard to breathe or think past the hurt, I still didn’t regret a single second. I just hated that all I had were memories. All I would ever have were memories. And even though I knew the pain would lessen as the memories faded, I clung to them like a life raft in a roiling sea. I didn’t want to let go.

I missed him. And I loved him more than ever. And on top of it all, I hated him for being the one to escape. The familiarity of my surroundings was its own kind of agony. The way the morning sun lit the plastic of the greenhouses, the sound of Goose being cranked and then beat on when it died, the dirt road that led to Casey’s house—all of it taunted me. My childhood memories had been replaced with images of shared dirt bike rides, a chase down the driveway, a tumble in the mud ... He was everywhere. Mostly, he was in my soul.

“Summer?” my dad prompted.

I blinked, forcing myself back to the moment. The garage. Three of the four men I’d ever loved stood watching me, waiting for an answer, all of them patient with my daydreams full of grief. “Can you help your mom with the furniture?”

“Um. Yeah, that’s fine,” I said, turning back to the house. I pulled my jacket tighter and crossed my arms, trying to ward off the chill that seemed to wind its way so far into my bones, it’d become the main ingredient of my heart.

Ford

"Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell."

—Edna St. Vincent Millay

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I
picked up the bag of sprouting herbs amidst damp soil and carried it to the planter’s box I’d set up in my new workspace. Halfway there, my foot caught on a stray cord—probably one of the three space heaters I’d bought after freezing my ass off that first week—and I stumbled. I regained my footing without face planting but not before the bag went flying. When it landed, the bottom corner burst open, sending dark soil and green stems in all directions.

“Shit,” I swore to the empty greenhouse.

I bent down and scraped what I could back into the bag. If I was quick, maybe these babies would be okay. I was not starting over. Not after losing the lavender in the move. I’d shipped it priority airmail and done all the paperwork for living plants—but it’d still arrived wilted and past saving. Half the project had to be scrapped and started over.