Even though I don’t think Bill would mind me meeting Jesse for coffee—Bill’s the least jealous person I know—I still don’t tell him. Bill and I have been dating for months, but he still doesn’t know much about my past relationships, which is strange because usually I’m an open book—apart from the whole Jason incident, that is.

But my heart is barely healed, stitched together with a frayed thread, held loosely in place with a few scraps of tape. Talking about Jesse would reopen the wound, and I wouldn’t survive it; I’d bleed out.

I arrive at Café ESPresso almost twenty minutes early. I was afraid the more I hesitated, the more time I waited, I’d chicken out. Plus, a part of me knew that if I drove past the café and saw Jesse there waiting, it was a very real possibility that I’d keep on driving.

The irony isn’t lost on me that we’re meeting at the same café I used to work at during high school and my college summers. Thankfully, most of the staff is new, so I don’t recognize anyone, and my old manager, Ricky, doesn’t typically work Saturday mornings—and so today he isn’t behind the counter.

I’m twisting my coffee cup in my hands when Jesse approaches. I’m so nervous that I nearly drop the cup at his feet.

“You came,” he says, as he takes the seat across from me.

I shrug. I almost didn’t.

“So,” he begins. “How are you?”

I stare at him. Are we really doing this?

He attempts to make conversation again, but it’s awkward. “You cut your hair?”

I nod.

“Sorry.” He dips his head and combs a hand through his hair. “This is… I’m nervous. I never expected to see you at the banquet. I thought I’d know what to say…”

You had thirteen months to figure it out.

I take a moment to observe him. He looks the same, if not a bit older. Not in a bad way, but his edges are sharper, a bit more mature. When he pins me with those intense blue eyes, I lose my breath.

I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I’m damn near suffocating. Say something, Riley. Anything. Just say something.

But my mouth won’t move. No sound forms, even though I’m concentrating every ounce of my effort to move my lips.

Thankfully, he breaks the silence. “You asked me why—”

“Jesse, don’t.” I cut him off. For the past thirteen months I dreamt of this moment, fantasized about the day he’d give me all the answers I needed, and I’d finally have closure, but now that it’s actually here, I’m anything but happy. I’m terrified.

“I have to.” He places both palms on the table. “I love you.”

My brain registers the word. He said love. Present tense.

My voice whispers his name. “Jesse.”

“Do you remember the time in fourth grade when we signed up for the talent show?”

“Yeah?” I don’t try to hide my confusion. What’s that got to do with anything? “I had to sing our duet all by myself when you got sick with strep throat.”

“You insisted on calling our group JC & the Barbie Doll.” He smiles as he remembers the memory. “I couldn’t sing for shit—or play an instrument—so I wanted to lip sync. But not you. You insisted we actually sing.”

I nod my head as I recite my life’s motto. “Go big or go home.”

He agrees. “I knew I’d make a fool of myself in front of the entire school, knew I’d never be able to do it, so I faked being sick.”

“What?” My mouth hangs open. “Why would you do that?”

He pins me with his gaze. “Because I knew I wouldn’t be good enough. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Jesse, that makes no sense. We were eight. How could you disappoint me?”

He shrugs. “Mess up the lyrics or those stupid dance moves you made me learn.”

“Hey!” I argue, forgetting the point to this conversation. “They weren’t stupid.”

He smiles as though to say, Yeah, okay.

I smooth my hands over the table before I continue, “I don’t understand. Why are you telling me this now?”

He holds my gaze. “Because that’s how it’s always been, Ry. You’re an angel, a beautiful, perfect angel. And I’m just me.” He shrugs. “No one special, someone who rarely finishes what he starts.”

Even though I’m hurt, even though I’m upset, I still defend him because I can’t bear for him to think of himself in that way. “How can you say that? You don’t know how many times I envied you. How easily you made friends, your athletic ability—in every freakin’ sport, how you were always so carefree while I worried about everything…”

He shakes his head, dismissing my compliments. “I couldn’t stay, Riley. I couldn’t do that to you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “You never said a word. You made me fall in love with you. I wanted to spend my life with you…and you just left. I woke up and you were gone.”

My eyes find his, and he says, “It was the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It doesn’t make it any less true.” He shakes his head. “What could I have offered you?”

“You.” My voice rises and a few patrons glance our way. “You were my everything, Jesse. Not only my lover but my best friend, my family… You took that all away when you left.”

He leans forward in his chair. “I had to. I had to make something of myself, to be the man you deserved.”

I shake my head. “No.” I push myself to stand. “You were a coward. You were scared, and guess what? So was I! But I was willing to be strong enough for the both of us.” I look down at him. “You didn’t respond to any of my texts or calls or emails.” The tears flow openly down my face. “You cut me out of your life as though I meant nothing to you.”

He stands. “You are everything to me.” He takes both my hands, and against my better judgment, I let him. “I read every single one. Every text. Every email. I listened to every call.”

Somehow that makes it worse. “What does it matter now? We can’t go back. You’re with…” God, I can’t bring myself to say her name. “That girl with the shoes.”

“Abigail?” His brow furrows. “She’s a talent scout from Breckland. She’s assisting me through the interview process.”

Talent scout? Interview? What the hell is he talking about?

“She’s not my... I’m not with anyone.”

The words filter through my mind, as I slowly start to piece together what he says. Breckland University… Is he moving back…? “Are you moving back to Pennsylvania?”

He nods. “It’s very possible.”

“Why?”

He leans in a little closer, lowers his voice. “I’m being interviewed for a coaching position at Breckland. With Coach Frankie’s retirement, the university is restructuring their coaching team.”

My eyes widen. He might be coaching basketball at Breckland? “What? You’re back in school?”

He shakes his head. “Not exactly. There’s a new initiative program; young coaches can gain experience while earning college credit. The pay’s shit, but at least it’s a start. You know how competitive coaching positions are in Division I schools.”

Actually, I don’t. My mind works overtime as I process what he’s just said. “That’s why you were at the banquet.”

He shrugs. “Abigail thought it would be good PR. It’s not a done deal, but…”

I shake my head to clear it. The café begins to buzz with activity, as the lunch crowd rushes in to grab their paninis and veggie wraps.

“Can we…?” He places a hand at the small of my back and guides me toward the door. “Can we go someplace quiet to talk?”

No, we can’t. We’re not friends anymore. It’s better this way.

“Sure.” My lips move of their own volition. “I live about fifteen minutes away.”

* * *

The quick drive back to my apartment is both the longest and shortest drive of my entire life. My hands grip the steering wheel until my fingers are ghostly white. The nerves are cramping my stomach so badly that I nearly vomit. Twice.

I watch as Jesse backs his rental car into the tiny visitor space in the parking lot behind my building. He follows me quietly up the front steps, and when we stop at my door, I consider telling him to leave. My heart pounds loudly in my chest. I can’t believe he’s here. I can’t believe I’m inviting him back to my apartment. My new apartment, the one that I moved into only three months ago in the hope that it would further help me get over him. Fresh start and all that.

We’re both silent as I slide the key in the lock. “Come in.” I swing open the door and gesture inside with my arm.

He eyes me, not suspicious exactly, more cautious than anything, but finally he follows me into the foyer.

As usual, inside the doorway I pause to slip off my shoes, but the damn lace on my tennis shoe is tangled, so I lean forward to unknot the string.

As I stand upright, Jesse stares at me, really stares at me, and I grow uncomfortable. Why is his looking at me like that?

He reaches forward, fingers grazing my collarbone, and the sensation is so delicious, so damn electric that I nearly moan.

“Wh-what…?” My voice is breathy and uncontrolled, so I stop speaking before he can see how much his touch has affected me.

But I need not have worried, because he isn’t paying attention to my face or my voice. His fingers loop beneath the thin silver chain that has slipped from underneath my shirt.

Strong fingers skim below the necklace and tug, unearthing the pendant that is hidden between my breasts, a place where it has remained since the day he left, thirteen months ago. Somehow, wearing it made me feel closer to him.

“You still have it.” His thumb dances across the smooth surface, tracing first the white curve, then the black. My eyes follow his movement, and I don’t know how it happens, but somehow my hand finds its way to his hip and mimics the smooth pattern.

“Of course, I still have it.” My fingers squeeze of their own accord. “It’s you and me.”

“Riley.” His voice is filled with so much emotion: pain, love, sadness, regret, hope, lust.

I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking, other than I’m not thinking, and I lean forward to kiss him. Really kiss him. My free hand grabs his other hip, anchoring him to me, and I pour forth, unleashing all the emotions hidden inside me for thirteen long months.

One taste is all I need. It’s a high. An addiction. One that I can’t stop.

Warmth floods my veins, catches me in its rapid path, and I’m powerless to let it to carry me further.

He grabs me, rougher than I expected, and every nerve comes alive. I forgot what it’s like with him. How could I have forgotten?

I lead him backwards into the living room, and we nearly fall to the sofa. His lips suck on my neck. His hands are everywhere, and when he glides his fingers over my sweater, tugging my nipples in a gentle squeeze, I swear I almost come. It’s been too fucking long.

“Too many clothes,” I murmur.

I shove his jacket from his shoulders with one hard pass of my hands. His shirt is next on my list; my body knows, remembers exactly what to do. It’s like hearing a song on the radio that you haven’t heard in years, but suddenly you’re singing every freakin’ word like it was yesterday.

My fingers bunch the soft fabric of his long-sleeve shirt, and push it up over his stomach to reveal the chiseled abs. The abs I’ve dreamt about for three hundred and ninety-two days.

His fingers snap the button on my jeans, and I’m so on board with what’s about to happen, so in the here and now, that I’m thrown when he suddenly pulls away.

My eyes snap to his, half-lidded, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking over his shoulder at Bill’s navy Broncos sweatshirt draped over the edge of the sofa. Fuck.

He tugs my hands away and then pushes his shirt back down.

“You and that guy…”

My voice weighs heavy as I answer. “Bill.”

“You’re together?”

Yes. “It’s new.”

“Jesus.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “What the fuck? You’re dating someone?” He gestures between us. “What is this?”

When I don’t answer, he continues. “This isn’t who you are, Ry. You’re not a cheater.”

You’re right. I can’t sleep with you; I’m dating Bill. What the hell am I doing?

I hang my head, refusing to meet his gaze.

“I want you, Riley. But you’re not mine.”

My eyes find his then and say the words that I’m not brave enough to say aloud: I’ve always been yours.

He shakes his head, a slow turn left to right. “At least not completely. I want all of you, Ry.” He reaches for his jacket that I tossed on the floor only minutes before. “I can’t share you. I won’t share you.”

And for some reason his words make me angry. Really fucking angry. He was the one who left. He was the one who didn’t call or text or email. He left me broken. Defeated. Lonely. Now, when I’m finally starting to pick up the pieces, he comes back and expects me to welcome him with open arms? Isn’t that what you just did? Do you never learn your lesson, you stupid, stupid girl?

I shake the thoughts from my cluttered mind. “What was I supposed to do? I haven’t heard from you in over a year.” I spread my arms wide. “A year, Jesse!” I take a few steps and begin tracing a wide circle to expel some of my pent-up energy. “Now you show up here and all these…feelings… Fuck.”

“I know, Ry and I’m sorry. I fucked up, but I’m not the same person I was. I didn’t contact you, I didn’t reach out, because I wanted to have my shit together, wanted to be off probation, to be a good man for you, someone worthy of you.” He approaches, places his hands on my arms to halt my pacing. “You know I never deserved you.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” I snap, but soften my tone as I read the sadness etched into his features. His eyes are wide, lips turned down, his jaw tight. “You were my everything.” My voice breaks on the last word, and I hate myself for it. Hate that my emotions are painted across my face, hate the heartbreak stamped into my words.

He shakes his head but continues. “A college dropout with a criminal charge? I always knew you could do better, but I was so damn selfish. I wanted you to need me the way I’ve always needed you.”

“Jesse.” His name whispers across the space between us. The physical distance is only a few feet, but emotionally it feels like an immense canyon, wide and impassable.

“When your dad suggested that I serve my probation in North Carolina—”

“My dad?” My voice is unreasonably high. “My dad is the one who suggested you leave?” My body begins to shake, not from nervousness but from anger. “And you listened to him? Why wouldn’t you come to me first? He was supposed to help us, not send you away.” My fists curl into tiny, tight balls, and I hit him. And then I hit him again. And again.

With each hit my anger turns to hurt and sadness.

My dad told him to leave.

Jesse holds his hands up and then catches me in his arms. “He was right, Ry. I was holding you back.”

I cry into his shirt. “I loved you, Jesse. I love you. You should have talked to me… We could’ve…together.” My words aren’t making much sense, and he tries to soothe me by stroking my hair.

I cry into him, and it’s a heartbreaking cry, one filled with sorrow and pain, and loss over what we used to have.

He wraps his arms tighter around me, and I try to pull away, knowing that he can’t be the one to comfort me, when he’s the one who has hurt me.

“No more.” I shake my head, but he still doesn’t let me go, and it makes me cry harder. “No more.”

Once my breathing returns to normal he lightens his grip, and I back away as he begins speaking. “When I saw you at the banquet, I couldn’t believe my luck. I thought this was the sign I was waiting for. I thought God finally brought you back into my life.” His eyes dart toward the offending Broncos sweatshirt, the physical reminder of the time and space between us. “I’m such a fucking idiot. I should have never left you… I love you. I want to spend my life with you—”

“Stop.” My hand slices through the air, cutting him off. “I can’t hear this right now.” Tears stream down my face.

“Ry, baby, please don’t cry anymore.”

I wrap my arms around my waist, an ingrained habit of protection to shield the emotional hurt.

His thumb swipes my cheek. “I never want to make you cry again.”

But the tears don’t stop. “I broke myself loving you,” I whisper, voice tight. “You broke me.”

He gasps, and I know my words have hurt him more than any one of my punches ever could. It’s a horrible truth, difficult words to utter, but it makes them no less true. “I was just starting to pick up the pieces. To move on…” I turn away and look out the window. “And then you show up. And I hate myself for still wanting you. For still loving you.”

“Riley,” he whispers, gently placing a hand on my hip. He presses his front against my back, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to collapse back into him. To let him hold me and comfort me and fill me with promises of hope and love.

I close my eyes and whisper, “I don’t know how to let you go.” I slowly turn to face him.

His eyes are solemn. “You don’t have to.”

“I think I do.” I squeeze his hand. “We can’t do this again. I can’t do this again.”

He nods his head in defeat, but squeezes my hand once more. “Tell me what you want from me.” This time his tone is different, not his usual self-assured, confident swagger, but rather serious, mixed with equal parts hope and fear.

“I’m not sure.”

He nods once, stoically. “Okay.” He gestures with his head toward the door. “I should go.”

Tears still stream down my face, and I don’t trust myself to speak, so I nod. Suddenly he leans forward and places a soft kiss on my jaw. It’s meant to be platonic, but when his soft lips meet my skin, I nearly moan. His breath is hot, sending a shiver up my spine, as he whispers, “Goodbye, Riley.”

And as I watch his retreating back, I’m struck with the sickening thought that this really is our final goodbye.