Chapter 53

CHAPTER 53

MARIGOLD

I looked around my empty apartment. It looked much bigger now that everything was off the walls and the furniture was stacked and waiting for the movers. I probably shouldn't bother taking any of it, but some furniture was better than no furniture. And I got a great deal on the move. I didn't have much, and it would all fit in a small truck.

Tomorrow, I was on my way home. I wished I was more excited about it. But I couldn't shake the feeling of failure. I couldn't even explain what I failed at, but it felt like failure. I didn't strike it rich or get a dream job.

I was returning home without the success I dreamed of and, even worse, without my heart intact. Hefting the last packed box onto the stack, I sighed and looked around the room one last time.

When I moved here, everything had felt possible. I dreamed of lofty achievements, romantic encounters, and a life that was far removed from the monotonous routine of my small hometown.

I imagined myself enjoying the vibrant Manhattan nightlife and getting to see concerts and Broadway musicals.

None of that happened. The closest I got to a concert was the buskers in the subway and the occasional singer at a coffee shop.

Not exactly glamorous.

I fell onto the air mattress on the floor. Moving was exhausting, and as the room spun a little, I realized that I hadn't eaten breakfast. I leaned back, staring at the peeling ceiling and let my mind wander to what could have been.

I had been so full of hope when I first arrived in the city that never slept. The bright lights and endless possibilities had seemed intoxicatingly within reach. It wasn't like I wanted to be a famous singer or a dancer. I just wanted a good job.

Period.

And that was over. It was time to do the last thing on my list before I went back to Wyoming. I had been dreading it, but it was time.

I walked into the bank that morning, feeling sad and a little numb. Christmas music played softly in the lobby, but it didn't stir any of that holiday spirit everyone else seemed to have. A small, tired tree stood in the corner, its decorations looking as lifeless as I felt. This was supposed to be simple—just hand over the money, sever the last tie I had to Zayn, and move on—but nothing ever seemed that easy with him.

The boring Christmas decorations were all so trite. The garland looked like it had been combed and left naked. A bank employee, wearing a red sweater with a snowman on the front, greeted me politely and walked me over to his desk.

"What can I do for you?"

"I need to transfer all but a thousand dollars from my account into this account," I said and handed him a piece of paper with Zayn's name and account information.

He stared at the screen and then me. "My record shows this money was only recently put in your account."

"Yes, and now I want to take it out. I don't need it in cash, just transfer it. I understand there will be a wire fee."

He was looking at me like I was crazy. "We'll need to contact Mr. Bancroft regarding the transfer," he said.

My stomach twisted at the mention of his name. I had hoped this could all be done without speaking to him again, but apparently, that wasn't an option.

"Fine," I said, trying to sound indifferent. "He knows it's coming. I don't understand what the problem is."

He gave me a look before picking up the phone. He was very professional and detached as he explained the situation to someone on the other end of the line. After a few moments, he handed the phone to a supervisor who had just come over, explaining that they needed someone with more authority to handle the conversation.

"Mr. Bancroft," the supervisor said.

I watched the supervisor's face as he spoke to Zayn, his frown deepening. My heart sank. While I had told Zayn I was sending the money back, I didn't think he really believed me. Judging by the look on the supervisor's face, Zayn wasn't happy. I could only imagine what he was saying.

I never imagined it would be so hard to give away half a million dollars.

"He'd like to speak to you," the supervisor said, holding out the phone.

I shook my head immediately. "No, that's not necessary."

The supervisor went back to the call, but Zayn must've been insistent because he soon handed the phone to me again.

"He insists," he said.

I could feel the eyes of the bank staff on me, waiting for some kind of decision.

This was not supposed to be a big deal. I just wanted to give away the money and be done with this. It was the final tether to Zayn. I needed it to be over. I couldn't feel like I was obligated to him. I didn't want to owe him anything—even if I would still technically owe him a little bit of money.

With a sigh, I took the phone. "Zayn, don't make this harder than it needs to be."

There was a pause, the sound of a horn honking in the background. "I don't want the money back, Marigold."

"I'm not keeping it, Zayn," I said firmly. "I broke my end of the deal. You have to let me pay it back."

"You don't owe me anything. Use it for yourself, for your dad, or give it to charity. I don't care, but I'm not taking it."

I stood up, my back to the bank employee as I felt my blood start to boil. "For once, you're not getting your way, Zayn. I'm paying you back. End of story. Even if I have to leave it in a garbage bag at your Dad's house."

There was silence on the other end, but I could hear something in the background. A car door slamming? Footsteps?

Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me, and I turned slowly. There he was, Zayn Bancroft, slightly out of breath, standing right in front of me. He was holding a phone in his hand. I realized he had hung up, even as I held the phone against my ear.

My mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"Zayn?" I whispered.

He looked at the bank employee. "Can you give us a minute?"

The employee hesitated, clearly torn between protocol and the fact that Zayn Bancroft was standing in front of him. "Sir, I?—"

But before he could get anything out, Zayn all but ushered both of them out of the office, closing the door behind him. When he turned back to me, there was something different in his eyes. A rawness I hadn't seen before.

"I think I'm in love with you," he said, his voice quiet but steady.

I blinked, my mind racing to catch up. "You think you're in love with me?"

"No." He shook his head. "I know I am."

My heart started pounding in my chest. This was not happening. I was supposed to be cutting ties, not getting dragged back into whatever this was. I was supposed to be on my way home to Wyoming. Leaving New York was supposed to keep me from ever having to see him again. If I didn't see him again, it would be easier to forget him.

At least that was what I had been telling myself.

He stepped closer, his hands finding my hips like it was second nature. I could smell the faintest trace of his cologne. It sent my thoughts spiraling. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears.

"You scare the hell out of me," he said. "I've seen my brothers fall for women who changed their lives for the better. But I'm not sure I'm ready."

"Me neither," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

I had plans, damn it. I was moving back to Green River, to my dad's place, to my old life. But now? Now he was here, looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered.

He tilted his head, studying my face. "Tell me I'm too late and I'll leave. Tell me you feel nothing for me and I'll walk right out that door. Tell me it wasn't getting real for you too and I'll say goodbye."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I should have said the words. I should have told him to go, to let me be, to let me move on for fuck's sake. But I couldn't. The truth was, I didn't want him to leave. I didn't want to lose him, no matter how complicated things had gotten.

I looked up at him, my breath catching in my throat. "Zayn, I don't want to say goodbye."

He leaned down and kissed me. It wasn't like any kiss we'd shared before. It wasn't for show or part of some grand performance. This was real. All of the emotion and confusion and longing between us crashed together in that moment, and I felt myself melt into him.

I gripped his jacket, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. My mind screamed that this was a mistake, that I was making everything harder than it needed to be. But my heart didn't care. All it knew was that Zayn was here, and for the first time in days, I didn't feel like I wanted to die.

I quieted the little voice in the back of my head warning me that this would just prolong the suffering. I was setting myself up for more pain.

When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathing heavily. I could feel the weight of what had just happened settling over me.

"Zayn, I can't do this."

"What can't you do?" he asked. "You don't believe me?"

"I don't know what to believe." My answer was honest. I felt torn between wanting to be in love and self-preservation.

"I know this is a one eighty," he said. "It just took me a little longer to get shit worked out in my head. I'm sorry. This is all new to me and I didn't know how to handle it."

I stared at him. I could see he was being honest, but I was terrified. He already had my heart. He could destroy me if he decided he really didn't love me.

But what if he didn't change his mind? What if he did love me? What if we could have a beautiful relationship?

"This changes everything," I whispered.

He rested his forehead against mine, his voice low and full of emotion. "I know."

We stood there, caught in the gravity of the moment, neither of us willing to move. Here I was, tangled up in the very thing I was supposed to be walking away from.

"I have to go back," I said softly, pulling away from him. "I told my dad I was coming home. I have to be out of my apartment in two days. I can't stay here, Zayn. This is not my life anymore."

Zayn's grip on my hips loosened, but he didn't let go completely. "I'm not asking you to stay, Marigold. But I had to tell you how I feel. I couldn't let you leave without knowing. I should have told you in Wyoming but I thought you didn't want to hear it. I guess it took my dad knocking me upside the head to make me see it."

I nodded, biting my lip. "I don't know what to do with that."

"Neither do I," he admitted. "That's why I'm so terrible at this. But I'll wait. I'll wait for you to figure it out. I just had to tell you. I understand you're leaving. But now you know how I really feel."

My heart ached at his words. I didn't know what to say, what to think. Everything felt too heavy, too overwhelming. But the one thing I knew for sure was that I couldn't ignore what had just happened between us.

"I need time," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not saying no. I'm just saying I can't decide now."

He nodded. "I get it."

His hands were still resting on my hips. The contact was confusing me. I was saying the right words, but our body language was saying something else.