Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jude

Present

The next few days fly by in a blur. It’s like life is on fast forward when all I want is to hit pause.

It’s not the end for us—we’ve agreed to do long distance. But with hundreds of miles between us, I won’t be able to hold her in the crook of my arm while we read. I won’t get to see the peaceful look on her face while she sleeps, or catch those happy, tired eyes first thing in the morning. No sound of her laugh drifting from the other room when she’s watching her favorite reality show. No reaching out to touch her whenever I want.

I’ll visit as often as I can, but no matter what, there will always be that damn countdown ticking away, reminding us that one of us has to leave. And frankly, I’m fucking tired of our relationship feeling like it’s built on borrowed time .

It’s the day before she heads back home, and I made sure to switch shifts with another doctor so I could have the entire day off. There’s no way in hell I’d miss out on spending every possible moment with her before she leaves.

The day is packed with mundane tasks—signing the official closing documents for the sale of her parents’ house, getting the oil changed in her car before her long drive back, and helping cram everything back into her luggage.

Throughout it all, I find every excuse to be close to her. My hand rests on her thigh as we drive, I pull her into a hug while we wait for our coffee, and when we walk my fingers lace through hers. If it weren’t for the way her eyes light up every time I touch her, I might worry that I’m overwhelming her with affection.

By the time we’re finished with all our errands, it’s nearly dinnertime. My body feels shaky, like I’ve had too much caffeine or pushed myself too hard at the gym. I know it’s not either of those things—it’s the thought of her leaving that’s got me wired and on edge. I shove her trunk past its breaking point with her belongings, giving it an extra push until I hear the lock click. If I could crawl in there with her stuff, I would in a heartbeat. But that’d probably look sketchy as hell, so I reluctantly decide against it.

Walking back into the house, I find her in the kitchen, blowing on a cup of hot tea. She points to the tea kettle, silently asking if I want some too. I shake my head, a better idea forming in my mind .

“Can I take you out for your last night here? Or would you rather stay home?” The word home slips out, and it feels too natural, like it’s not only my place anymore, but ours.

She takes a sip from her mug, tipping her head to the side in thought. “Does it make me boring as hell if I want it to be just us tonight?”

“Honestly, I’m relieved. But if the place I want to take you involves no one else, are you down?”

Her ears perk up at the mention of a no-crowds location. “Let’s do it.”

We take my car, and stop to grab takeout at our favorite Mexican restaurant. The smell of warm tortillas and seasoned meat fills the interior as we park and eat in the car. With the low hum of music on, we talk about all the future bands we promise to see one day—fully knowing we both hate crowds and would rather watch a show from the comfort of our own home.

As soon as we’re finished we take off driving again. The busy, multiple lane freeway turns into a single windy road along the coast.

“Have any idea where I’m taking you?” I ask, turning to sneak a glance at her in the passenger seat of my car.

Glancing out her window at the water growing closer, she replies, “The beach?”

“Close. We’re almost there.”

After several more minutes, I turn into one of the two empty spots overlooking the ocean. The parking spaces are so close to the edge of the cliff it feels as if the rock may crumble and you’ll be toppling into the waves at any given moment. But the view at the lookout is as breathtaking as it was all those years ago. Choppy turquoise waves giving way to a bright blue sky. The very edge of the horizon begins to transform into a color of pastels.

Sunsets at the ocean have always been our thing. We’re similar in the way our minds never seem to rest, always racing through possible outcomes, scenarios that haven’t even happened yet. Something about the ocean quiets all that noise.

The view in front of us is gorgeous. But Ella—in the front seat of my car, staring out at the skyline with that small smile on her full lips—is even better.

I thread my fingers through hers and give it a squeeze. “Do you remember it?”

“Is this the same place where we first kissed? With the Polaroids?”

“It is. And look what I brought to commemorate the occasion.” From the backseat, I pull out my old school Polaroid camera and start it up.

Pointing it toward her, she instinctively falls into the same pose, wearing that same unrestrained smile from our very first summer together—so long ago it feels like a lifetime has passed.

The small rectangle shoots out of the top, and I place the photo on the clip of my sun visor. I want to see that picture every day, to feel the same warmth and happiness that radiates from her even through a photograph.

Leaning across the console, she rests her head on my shoulder. “One of both of us now.”

With the camera held at arm’s length, we turn to look at each other, knowing exactly what comes next. My mouth finds hers, soft and gentle, as I snap the second picture.

I knew it ten years ago, and I know it now. This feeling, this lightness every time we’re together, is once in a lifetime. The distance and time apart only confirmed it. And now, I’m ready to drop everything if it means being with her.

The next morning, I wake with the sun creeping in through the gap between the curtains, with the nightmare of realization that today is the day she leaves. It coils tightly in my gut, relentless and painful, squeezing the air from my lungs. She lies next to me, fast asleep and peaceful, the white sheet twisted around her waist, her ankle thrown over my calf.

From the moment she wakes to the moment she’s standing at the door, purse hitched up on her shoulder and a thermos of coffee in hand, it all feels like a horrible, fucked-up nightmare that’s been on fast forward. Fate brought us together only to tear us apart again.

And although I know this time is different, that this time it isn’t the end—I still can’t seem to shake the alarm ringing in my ears. It’s like my mind is yelling at me to wake the fuck up and take action. To do something—anything—to keep her here, to stop her from walking out that door.

But I can’t. Because this is what she wants, and I can’t be the one to interfere with that. Pulling her into my chest and hugging her, I become numb. Not to her, but to everything else in life. Nothing matters except for this—us.

Leaning against her open car door, I kiss the top of her head. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Me either,” she whispers, burrowing deeper into my chest.

It’s not the answer I expected, because frankly I thought she was ready to put California in her rear view mirror.

We both stand, clinging to each other with a new level of desperation, neither of us wanting to be the first to let go. Pulling away from her will feel like losing a part of myself. Yet, I let it happen anyways when she does release me. Jingling her keys in her hand, she bites her lip. “I should probably go now, before traffic gets too crazy.”

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears as she swipes her nose with the sleeve of her sweater, tilting her head to the sky in a desperate bid to keep them from spilling over. A knot forms in my throat that I try to swallow down, but it’s no use. Watching her get ready to leave, and trying her best to put up a brave front, gut punches me on a whole new level. I’m a fucking mess.

I want to tell her I love her—that I started ten years ago and never really stopped. I want to say she’s drop-dead gorgeous, and I could stare at her for years and still get that flutter in my stomach every single time. I want to remind her that she’s stronger than she knows, that her sharp wit and kindness light up every room .

Instead, all I can manage without completely breaking down is a single nod.

“Yeah. Okay.” I choke on the word as it comes out, emotion tightening its grip on me. She sees it. She knows. But I think we both silently agree to not make this any harder on the other by crumbling apart.

I kiss her like it may very well be the last time. The feel of her lips on mine, the sweet taste of her mouth, and tiny exhale like I’m stealing her breath away, engraves itself into my memory.

As she ducks into the car, and closes the door, she hesitantly looks back at me. It crushes me, but I paste on a brave smile anyway. Because Ella has spent her entire life trying to please everyone but herself, and I won’t be another one of those people trying to persuade her.

It’s the only thing that stops me from jumping in front of her moving vehicle and falling to my knees to beg her to stay.

As she pulls out of the driveway, she gives me a small, nervous wave before coasting down the street and disappearing with a left turn out of view. It feels like my entire life is driving away in that beat-up car with the butterfly bumper sticker.

And by nightfall, I’m already searching for available flights to Washington.