Nevada

One Week Later

“What are you doing here?” I ask. I’ve just loaded the last of my things into the back of my truck when Yardley pulls up next to me.

We spent the whole morning together and we must have said “I love you” a thousand different times in a thousand different ways—none of it ever feeling like it was quite enough.

Yardley runs to me, the thin strap of her tank top falling off her left shoulder, and she wraps her arms around my shoulders, burying her face in my neck. When she pulls away, I realize her eyes are glassy and filled with tears.

One falls, and I wipe it away with the pad of my thumb.

But then another falls, and another, until I can no longer keep up with them.

“Hey,” I say. “You promised. No tears.”

She exhales, glancing down at her neon orange Nike sneakers. “I wanted to say goodbye one more time.”

Cupping her sweet face in my hands, I bring my lips to her forehead. “This isn’t goodbye, Dove. I’m going to see you in four months. I’ll be home for Christmas. And we’ll talk on the phone every single night until then.”

She slips her arms beneath mine, squeezing me tight. “I didn’t realize how hard this was going to be. Just knowing that I can’t see you or touch you anytime I want … it’s …”

Her voice trails, and I run my hand through her soft hair. “I know.”

My chest burns. Seeing her so distraught kills me. But I have to do this for us. For our future.

“I upgraded my plan,” I say. “Five hundred texts a month. And they’re all for you.”

She’s quiet.

“And every night, nine o’clock my time, we’ll talk on the phone for as long as you want,” I add. Though she knows these things. I’ve told her dozens of times. We’ve been through all of this.

I claim her mouth with one last kiss because I need to get on the road so I can make it to my hotel by eight o’clock tonight. It’s going to be a two-day trip and I’m going it alone, so I need a good night’s rest.

“Don’t cry, Dove. Please,” I say, my mouth against hers. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Yardley sniffs before dabbing her wet cheeks and glancing to the side. “I’m sorry. I tried not to. I really did.”

“I need you to be strong,” I say, standing tall. I can’t let her see that on the inside, I’m falling apart just as much as she is. I’m just better at hiding it. Call it an art or some shit, or maybe a product of growing up accustomed to constant disappointment and rarely getting the things you wanted. “Life is hard as hell sometimes. And we knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But it’s going to be worth it, Yardley. I promise. Just wait for me. You can do that, right? Just like we promised?”

She nods quickly. Our eyes lock. “Of course. Yes. I promise.”

I kiss her again, though it hardly satisfies. Hell, I’d throw her into the cab of my truck and take her with me if James Devereaux wouldn’t hunt me down until he had my head on a spear.

“I have to go now.” I let her go, as much as it physically hurts, and I hold her gaze one last time—at least for now. “I love you, Yardley.”

“I love you too.” She drags her hand beneath her left eye then her right, forcing a smile as she steps back. “Drive safe. And call me when you get to the hotel tonight.”

“I will.”

She lingers, arms folded across her chest. I linger, feet anchored to the gravel driveway. But there’s nothing more to be said.

We’ve said it all.

We’ve made every promise we possibly could, reassuring ourselves that everything’s going to work out. And I don’t doubt her for a second. Her love for me is real. Mine equally so.

I meant what I said, and so did she, and that’s what’s going to get me through the next four years.

Someday this time apart will be nothing more than a tiny speck on the timeline of our life together, and maybe we’ll look back at this and laugh at how scared we were to be without each other for a short period of time.

“Everything’s going to work out,” I tell her as she walks away and I shut the gate of my truck.

She stops, turning back toward me, her pink lips forming saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “I know.”

A minute later, I climb inside my truck and start the engine.

I said goodbye to my mom earlier today, when she left for work. Eden’s at work and Hunter’s at a friend’s house. We all said our casual goodbyes last night, but I saved the best for last. I wanted this morning to be all about Yardley. I wanted her to be the last thing I saw as I left town, and I want her to be the first thing I see the day I return.

In the rearview, I watch Yardley back out of the driveway and disappear down the street. Taking in the tinny-blue trailer one last time, I punch the coordinates into my GPS, slip my aviators over my nose, and drive east with a heavy ache in my heart.

I miss her already.