Act Thirty-Nine
Baylee Wright
12 Days to Infini’s Premiere
Luka likes pretending that doom isn’t waiting in the horizon. For six days, I’ve done a decent job at pretending too. We sneak off together when we can. As though Geoffrey never caught us. And we try not to talk about his impending departure.
Well, he’s quitting tomorrow, and I couldn’t stomach attending an Aerial Ethereal artists banquet in the Masquerade’s ballroom tonight. Most go for the free food and booze.
But Luka gladly ditched with me.
With his suitemates at the banquet, we hang out in his kitchen. I sit on a bar stool and watch him burn my grilled cheese on a frying pan.
I’d cook, but he offered, knowing I typically smile when he always under-butters the bread and smoke billows in his face.
I haven’t smiled at all today.
Reality is too close to stealing him from me, and my heavy mood won’t rise. I slump forward, and I wonder if there’s anything more I can do to keep him here.
To extend this moment for another day.
Another lifetime.
Anything.
Luka flips the charred grilled cheese onto a paper plate, and he tosses the smoking pan into the sink. Then he slides the paper plate to me with a growing smile. “I think I could be a good cook,” he teases. “Maybe Steak ‘n Shake will hire me.”
My lips downturn. “That’s not funny.” I’d normally take a bite of the grilled cheese. He always burns the outside, but the inside is usually really good.
I can’t even bring myself to pick it up. The act feels like running five hundred miles across the globe. I groan and wipe my leaking eyes with the hem of my cotton T-shirt. I’ve been involuntary crying all day. I’m sick of tears.
I’m sick of sadness. I just want it to leave me.
And I want him to stay.
Luka skirts around the counter and comes up to me while I sit. He cups my cheeks, his palms warm against my skin, and I wrap my arms around his waist.
“I could quit first,” I say, surfacing our fate that we’ve avoided. “He said only one of us needs to, and if I quit before he can fire you, Geoffrey can’t really do anything…” I trail off as Luka shakes his head.
“No, Bay.” His brows rise. “I’m quitting tomorrow. Not you.” He kisses me lightly on the lips, as though imprinting his declaration as a promise.
A tear slides down my cheek, onto his palm. “I’m sorry.” My voice fissures.
Luka brushes his thumbs beneath my welling eyes. “I’m sorry too.” He nods a few times, restraining emotion. He edges closer, his arms falling to my shoulders.
His body is pressed more up against my build. His warmth blankets me, and my legs instinctively curve around his waist, my ass on the end of the stool.
More in his possession.
I can’t rid the lump in my throat. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say. “I’m the one who showed you the list.”
I tried not to imagine being caught before finishing the list. It was always a possibility, but I just hoped we’d end things on our terms this time.
Luka almost laughs. “I’m glad.”
I make a face at him like he can’t be serious.
He actually smiles. “Everything we did wasn’t a mistake to me, and it’s definitely not all on you. The list was supposed to be about two exes talking through their past. Not redoing everything. I took it to another level, Bay.”
“And I agreed to it,” I remind him. “Because…” I wanted you. The list was supposed to be about me emotionally moving on, but we ended up using it as an excuse to stay together. “Shit.” I’m really crying. I bury my face in my shirt, lifting the fabric and exposing my abdomen.
I feel him kiss the top of my head, and I sink against his chest. Luka draws me off the stool, but he keeps my legs secured around his waist. I pull my shirt down to see my surroundings. He carries me to the living area.
And he lies on the modern gray couch with me pressed up against his body.
Our limbs tangle together, his strong arms holding me like it’s the first and last time. My ear rests over his heart, and I listen to the calming thump…thump…thump.
Silent tears cascade down my cheeks, and every now and then, he caresses them away with his thumb.
After a few minutes, I look up, and he smiles weakly at me. His gray eyes are glassed.
I turn on my side to face him more.
He turns with me, and his arm hooks over my waist, welding us together.
In the quietest voice, I whisper, “Will I see you tomorrow?” I ask what’s been on my mind since he started cooking. He may leave in the early morning before practice starts, and there’s a chance we won’t find private time to meet.
A tear rolls out the corner of his eye. “I don’t think so.”
This is it then. I inhale a sharp breath, and he rubs my shoulder and arm before his hand travels to my cheek again.
I place my palm onto his hand.
His breath is uneven, staggered, and his lips touch mine so tenderly and lovingly. It fills me up.
We break slowly, and I wish my tears weren’t all over his hand. My throat swells, but I find my voice to ask shakily, “Do you want to complete the list?”
His brows cinch. “Right now?”
I try to shrug, but I have no energy. “It’s now or never.” What we do here determines how we end our love story.
Luka rolls on top of me and hoists his weight off my frame, his hands on either side of my shoulders. I clutch his biceps, fine with him bringing his entire body down onto me, but he stays suspended above.
He combs pieces of my hair off my face. He smiles like I’m the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, even tear-streaked. Even crying and sad. “I’d rather just lie here with you, Bay.”
I think he knows that we’re both not emotionally up for oral sex.
“What about the list?” I whisper. “It just stays unfinished forever?”
Luka thinks for a second, and then he says, “We’ve never had a close. Maybe we were never meant to.” He lowers some, his forehead near mine. “One day, you’ll find a man that you deserve, who’ll make you so fucking happy.” We’re both crying. “I’m sorry that couldn’t be me.”
We tangle up again, hugging. Clinging.
And I whisper into his neck, “It was you. It was always you.”
We stay like this until time ticks by, and footsteps patter along the hotel hallway. Voices growing louder, and we know the banquet has ended.
We gather the strength to stand, and we languidly head to the suite’s door. He hangs onto my wrist, and I rub the wet tracks off my cheeks. He’s still clasping onto me as I crack open the door.
And I look back, his chiseled yet angelic features only an inch away. I press two fingers to my lips, and I do what he had done.
I touch the imprinted kiss to his mouth. One beat passes, and he swiftly shifts my fingers before his lips urgently meet mine in a real, sweltering kiss. It pulls and curves my body into his. I grasp onto the back of his head, and his tongue parts my lips.
Driving the kiss deeper. More sensual than pained.
Tears slip down our faces, and I feel his pulse race against mine.
This is our goodbye.
At least it’s better than the first time. I hope I can live with that.