What would I say?
How can I convey what’s been circling through my head for days?
I exhale a shaky breath before typing out a sentence. Then I read it over a million times before deleting it and taking a stab at a second attempt.
Ugh.
Why does this feel like a matter of life or death?
With a furrowed brow, I glare at the text. It seems so inadequate. A quick succession of finger taps makes it disappear. Then I retype a simple sentence, read through it at least a dozen times before losing my patience and hitting the send button. As soon as the message is fired off, a groan slides from my lips as a bubble of anxiety wells in my chest. If it were possible to snatch it from the air, I would do it in a heartbeat.
My mind grows fuzzy as I hyperventilate before giving myself a quick mental slap.
For fuck’s sake, girl, pull it together! For better or worse, it’s over with. There’s no going back.
As terrified as I am, if I don’t see this through to the bitter end, I’ll always regret it.
Decision made, I straighten my shoulders and grab the afghan from the armchair before heading to the tiny balcony. Anxiety churns in my gut as I rush down the steps and cross the cement patio that skirts the pool until my bare feet can sink into the cool blades of grass.
I stop and prick my ears, attempting to pick up the slightest noise. Crickets chirp, a few birds call from where they are nesting in surrounding trees, and the engine from a car grows faint before eventually disappearing. My teeth sink into my lower lip before sucking the fullness into my mouth as doubt flourishes.
Why did I think this was a good idea?
Maybe I should save myself the humiliation and return to the house. There’s no reason for me to sit out here and wait for a guy who won’t show up. I hug the blanket to my chest, knowing deep down I can’t escape the inevitable. I have to make one last ditch effort before throwing in the towel.
It’s not a conscious decision to stumble forward. All I know is that each step brings me closer to the little corner at the back of the yard that borders the golf course. Trembles wrack my body as I arrange the blanket on the ground before stretching out and settling in for the duration. It feels like I’m playing a game of Russian roulette with my heart, and that’s the riskiest decision I’ve ever made.
With every agonizing second that ticks by, the nausea in the pit of my belly grows until I want to curl up into a tight ball and rail at myself for being foolish enough to think this would end well.
Breathe.
I focus on the sky before rattling off the names of familiar constellations, but it’s not enough to distract me. After five tortuous minutes slide by, any hope that we could put the past behind us and start fresh dies a slow, agonizing death. What has become glaringly obvious is that I read too much into Kingsley’s gestures. The telescope. Him sticking up for me with Sloane. They didn’t mean as much as I suspected. The finality of this moment has tears pricking the back of my eyes as an ache rushes in to fill the gaping hole in my chest.
Emotion churns beneath my skin, attempting to claw its way out. I release a measured breath and refocus on the pinpricks of light that are painted across the velvety darkness. I take in the sheer beauty and the amazement I feel each time I stare at the solar system. How can you not marvel at the impossibility of it all? Usually that’s enough to put my problems into perspective, but tonight, it does nothing to ease the sorrow that fills me.
“Hey.”
Startled by the deep voice, my gaze shifts, landing on Kingsley. His lower half is encased in black sweatpants, the top in a gray hoodie. The air gets sucked from my lungs as I find him staring down at me with an inscrutable expression. My heart flutters in response to his proximity. It’s become such a familiar sensation, one I’ve experienced dozens of times since spotting him on the beach. And nothing that has happened between us has changed that.
When I remain silent, completely tongue-tied by his presence, he asks, “Is there room down there for me?”
I blink to awareness before scooching over. As I do, he drops beside me before stretching out. I’m ridiculously cognizant of our points of contact. Shoulders. Elbows. Hips. Through the thick cotton hoodie, my skin buzzes with awareness.
Over the last couple of hours, I’ve manufactured a thousand little speeches in my head. Everything I wanted him to know. And now that he’s here…