Chelsey
Leila puts her feet on my coffee table, a bit of bright red fluff falling away from her socks. I wrinkle my nose as it falls to my laminate flooring, but I don’t say anything. She is, after all, here to join me in my newfound hatred of Christmas.
That, and she’s trying to take my mind off the fact that the guys are leaving today. I do keep thinking I made the right choice to walk away. This is for the best—otherwise, right about now, I’d have to say good-bye to Kye and would probably be having my heart broken by it anyway.
That’s what I’m telling myself. Somehow it makes it better, even though I know I’m lying to myself. I’m bullshitting myself to the high heavens, but I figure if I say that I’m okay enough then I’ll believe it.
I hate myself, though. That’s the one part I can’t shake, the murky cloud of guilt that’s resting on my shoulders so heavily. I hate myself for hurting him, because I can still hear him telling me he loves me.
It’s all I’ve heard in my head for days.
I sigh heavily and pick at a piece of lint on my leggings. I knew what I was getting into when I kept going back for more. There was never any fight from me, not really. I didn’t need his help to get my tree or even to trim it back when we realized how big it was. He didn’t need to stay whenever there was a storm, and he definitely didn’t need to be here the night my power went out.
I didn’t need to let him do any of that stuff, but I did. I did, because I think, even then, I was powerless to refuse him. How do you turn down a guy who shows up at your apartment when your power is out just so you aren’t alone? Everything else aside, he didn’t need to do that. He didn’t need to do anything he’s done in the past two or three weeks, but he did it anyway.
He did it anyway, even when I made it next to impossible for him to do it.
He did it because he wanted to.
And I kept going back, because I wanted to, too.
And now he’s going to leave. He’s going to go to L.A., and he’s going to go without me telling him just how sorry I am. He recorded a whole song for me, and I can’t even apologize for being a giant piece of crap to him. Instead I just curled up like a hedgehog and ignored everything. I ignored the meaning of the song.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
He can’t leave until he knows I’m sorry.
I bolt off the sofa, shocking Leila into jumping.
“Whoa, what are you? A Chihuahua?” she asks, dropping her feet to the floor and sitting up.
I grab my boots from by the door and almost fall over in my haste to get them on. “When are they leaving? Are they still here?”
“My brothers?” Leila frowns. She hits the Home button on her phone and looks at the clock. “They leave in ten minutes. Why? Have you had an epiphany? Angels part the clouds in song or somethin’?”
“Yeah, sure, something like that.” I grab my keys. “Spare’s in my panty drawer if you leave before I get back.”
I run out the door before she can respond and fly down the stairs. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t say good-bye to him before he leaves—and apologize for being such a bitch. I can’t apologize for who I am, but I can for the way I’ve acted.
And the way I’ve acted has been completely unacceptable.
I hope that it isn’t too late to say sorry for that. Sure, I could text him. I could call, even. But that doesn’t feel right. He told me he loves me, despite the fact I’m a raging bitch. Maybe that’s why he loves me.
He’s a bit of an asshole, but that’s why I love him. Isn’t it?
I’ve been running for so long. . . . God. I’ve been running in the wrong direction, and the least I can do is apologize. And not by text. Or a phone call. Or an email. That’s still running.
This time I need to run to him, even if I only walk away again in the end.
My stomach ties itself in knots as I drive across town. The minutes tick by on my dashboard clock, and each time the number changes, another punch of regret barrels into me. It’s accompanied by the sweet sting of knowing that I will miss him, that this regret of hurting him will always stay with me.
When I approach the Burke house, cars are lined up outside. I recognize them instantly as Sofie’s, Ella’s, and Jessie’s. Conner is standing with Sofie, Mila in his arms, and he has them both pulled into him. Ella is buried in Tate’s embrace, and although it’s not as bad for her, because she’s planning to join them after Christmas, I know she doesn’t want to be without him. Jessie has her arms tightly around Aidan’s neck, her face pressed into him. Mrs. Burke is flitting around each of them, fussing, while Mr. Burke stands by and shakes his head.
This shouldn’t look like this two days before Christmas Eve. Whatever possessed them to agree to this, I’ll never know. I can feel everyone’s hearts breaking as I kill my engine and get out. My door slams and several sets of eyes turn to me.
I take a deep breath as their questioning and surprised gazes settle over me. That’s all they are—surprised. None of them is cold or accusatory like I thought they would be.
Aidan steps forward, letting Jessie go, and comes to me. “You lookin’ for Kye?”
“I . . .” I wet my lips with my tongue. “Yeah. Is he . . . here?”
His lips twitch into a smile that is so much like Kye’s it makes my heart ache, and he nods. “He’s in his room, hidin’ like a little pussy. Come on. I’ll take you up.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me gently as he guides me into the house. He releases me to take me upstairs, and I feel kind of sick as I take each step.
This seemed like such a good idea ten minutes ago. Now that I’m here, in his house, and right outside his bedroom door, I want to run away.
I won’t, though. I’ve done that more than enough.
“Hey, bro?” Aidan knocks on Kye’s bedroom door.
“Yeah,” Kye says roughly. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“We got time.” Ads pushes the door open and pokes his head around. “Great. At least you’re not jerkin’ off this time.”
“What do you want, Ads?”
“Nothin’. Got someone here who does want somethin’ though.” He pushes the door wide open.
Kye’s solemn blue gaze travels from Aidan to me. Slowly, he looks me over head to toe, and my stomach flips at the intensity with which he looks at me. Every bit of courage I had disappears when his eyes meet mine. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I whisper, looking down.
Ads glances between us before shuffling off downstairs.
“Come in.” Kye swings his legs over the side of his bed and puts his phone down. “Shut the door so that asshole has to work a little harder to eavesdrop, will ya?”
I take a few steps inside his room and quietly push the door closed behind me. I wring my hands in front of my stomach and look around like I’ve never been in here before. It looks a little empty without his laptop on the small desk in the corner, and the other things that are usually lying around aren’t here. The laundry basket in the corner has nothing in it, and the empty beer bottles are no longer on the nightstand.
“Look, Chels, I don’t wanna be a dick, but we’re going in a few minutes.”
“Of course.” I look back at him. His hair is scruffy and he looks a little tired, and guilt hits me again. “I just . . . I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For . . . everything.”
He raises an eyebrow and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to apologize for the way you feel.”
“I know.” I drop my hands. “But I can apologize for the way I made you feel, so that’s what I’m doing.”
He rubs his eyes and stands up. The space between us closes with his strong steps, and his hands hover at the sides of my face before I meet his gaze and he lowers them to my cheeks. My eyes flutter shut as the warmth of his palms spreads across my skin. When I open them again, he’s staring down at me with a look that’s too much like love.
“Don’t,” he says quietly, his voice deep. “I should have listened to you when you said you weren’t interested.” He touches his lips to my forehead then lets me go. He reaches for a duffel bag and throws his phone into it, then takes it to the door. He looks at me for one last moment before he turns away.
“I’m glad you didn’t listen.” My words are soft, but the falter in his step tells me he heard it.
“Me too.” Those are the last words he says before he walks down the stairs and leaves me standing in the middle of his room.
I wrap my arms around my waist and squeeze my eyes shut, dropping onto the edge of his bed. It’s still warm where he was sitting on it, and I breathe in the deep, earthy scent I’ve slowly come to associate with him.
But the scent of him isn’t enough. The lingering warmth of his touch on my cheeks isn’t enough. I didn’t know how badly I wanted him until wanting him was no longer an option. It filters through me and it hurts everywhere.
Just one more touch. Just one more moment of his skin against mine and then maybe this will be easier. Maybe the regret of my mistake won’t be as strong if I can still feel him.
I get up and run down the stairs just in time to see him hugging his mom at the base of the steps in front of the minibus that’s going to take them to the airport. His brothers are still standing to the side saying their own good-byes, and his name bursts from my lips before he can take a single step onto the bus.
“Kye!”
He looks up, and I jump off the front porch. The gravel of the driveway crunches beneath my feet as I run toward him. When I reach him, I launch myself at him without stopping and throw my arms around his neck.
He takes a step back to steady himself but wraps his arms around my waist tightly. I bury my face into his neck and breathe him in, my heart thundering against my rib cage. God, he feels so good.
I drop down to my heels and look him right in the eye. His breath warms my lips, and his slow exhale kills all my restraint. I press my lips against his, squeezing my eyes shut as an aching pain slices through me. The idea that this could be the last time I ever get to kiss this man is something I can’t comprehend right now.
So I savor it. I block out the rest of the world and just savor the taste of his mouth on mine and the way it’s just one touch, but it’s one touch that I feel right down to the tips of my toes. It’s in the way my lungs constrict and my skin tingles.
I step back, extracting myself from his embrace, and touch my fingers to my lips. “I just . . .”
Say it, Chelsey. Just say the words.
“You . . . You’re everything. To me. I just wanted you to know that. I didn’t want you to go and think I don’t care. Because I do. A lot. And I know I’m not always a nice person and that I’ve pushed you away more than I should have. But thank you for loving me anyway, and thank you for letting me love you. That’s all,” I whisper, walking backward a few steps. His eyes burn into me the whole time, and it becomes too much. The undeniable glimmer in his eye hurts too much to see, so I turn.
I turn, run to my car, get in, and drive away, the whole time warring with the tears that are desperate to fall.