There’s something wrong with Jace, but he won’t tell me what. Over the last couple of days, I’ve halfheartedly asked a bunch of times, but all he says is that it’s nothing. I want to believe, but then I catch him staring off in the distance a frown on his face, silent and contemplative, and know I’m fooling myself.

That he’s hiding something is bad enough, but what’s worse, is my own actions.

It’s wrong, but I don’t insist he talk to me. I don’t utilize my best skill as an attorney and press him into a corner until he admits whatever truth he’s evading.

Instead, he pretends he’s hiding it from me, and I pretend I don’t notice.

It lurks like a poison between us.

I hate that I’m avoiding. As much as I want to understand what’s bothering him, a bigger part of me doesn’t want to know. Not yet.

I want to live in this bubble where it’s nothing but him and me and the way we feel about each other. Where the world is magic because we’re in the same room.

I’ve never been an avoider, but I find I can’t help myself.

Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not about the way he feels about me. It can’t be. Not with the way he kisses me like he can’t bear to let me go. Not with the way he studies me with that look on his face, like he can’t believe his good fortune.

But every instinct I possess warns me his secret will change us.

I’m not ready. I don’t want reality to intrude.

I want to stave it off for a little longer.

Hand in hand, we walk down the street this bright Sunday morning, on our way to meet his friends for brunch. An occurrence Jace has told me only happens once or twice a year because of schedules.

I love that he wants me to come.

It’s like I’m officially his girlfriend, which is silly, considering all the things we’ve done together. I don’t exactly understand how I’ve fallen for him so completely, but I’ve stopped questioning it. Instead, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I just focus on being happy. It’s working too, well, except for the dark storm cloud that follows us everywhere, just waiting to pour down on us.

The irony of the day we met is not lost on me.

The restaurant, a popular brunch place, comes into focus, and we walk in. We’re a bit late, so all Jace’s friends and their significant others have already arrived. We say our hellos, kissing and hugging in greeting before they sit back down.

The waitress comes over and tells us that there’s bottomless Bloody Marys and Mimosas, and after ordering a spicy Bloody Mary, I settle into my chair.

There will be time for serious discussion later, today is about fun. I’m determined to enjoy the day.

Ashley smiles at me. “What did you guys do last night?”

That she asks me such a couple question makes my heart swell. I wave my hand. “Just stayed in, nothing crazy.”

We’d both worked to clear our schedule for the rest of today, so we hadn’t met up until late. When we finally reunited, we’d done nothing but eat, talk and have sex.

The perfect night. Marred only by the unspoken words between us.

Shelly shifts her attention to Jace and glares at him. “So, what’s new?”

His fingers tighten on the menu and a cord in his neck flexes. “Nothing.”

Everyone around the table glances at each other, with various pinched expressions, before turning back to Jace.

Shelly’s mouth curls into a frown. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” Jace spits the words, as though they are something foul.

An uncomfortable silence seeps over the table, and in the empty space it occurs to me that whatever secret Jace is harboring they all know about it.

Every single person at this table knows but me.

Worse, they all know I don’t know what it is.

I want to sink into the floorboards. It’s a horrible position to be in, and suddenly I wish I wasn’t here. That he’d come alone. My stomach twists.

Shelly goes to speak again, but Ted clasps her around the shoulder and pulls her close before whispering something in her ear. She scowls at him, whispers something back, and then they proceed to have a whispered argument I can’t hear because of the crowded noisy restaurant.

With a furrowed brow, I glance at Jace. The question sits in the back of my throat.

His eyes meet mine, and his expression is resigned.

If I ask him right now, he’ll tell me.

I should get it over with, just rip off the Band-Aid and deal with whatever is going on.

Once it’s in the open we’ll have no choice but to figure it out.

But I can’t quite bring myself to do it.

Instead I turn back to the menu and ask, “What’s good here?”

The tension releases, but the uncomfortable thickness of things left unsaid remains.

Later, I promise myself.

Later.

---

I’m such a bastard.

After Shelly’s little scene, I’d been so nervous I’d downed one mimosa after another before switching to the hard stuff.

I need to deal with the fellowship.

The one I’d accepted without even talking to her.

I leave in a month. I’ve got a laundry list of things to do and I’m going to have to start tackling them.

I’m out of procrastination time.

It eats at me, that I’m keeping this from Fleur. It’s unforgivable. I just can’t seem to get out the words.

I walk out of the bathroom and smack right into Shelly, who jabs me in the chest with her finger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“This is none of your business,” I hiss out.

“Maybe not.” She puts her arms across her chest. “But since I’m the only one willing to call you on your shit, I’m making it my business.”

“I have it under control.” It’s a lie. I have nothing under control.

“Jace.” Her face takes on that stubborn, mulish expression. “You’re only making it worse. Just talk to her. You guys are great together. You’ll work it out. But you can’t if you keep hiding it from her.”

“You don’t know anything about it.” I drag my hand through my hair. “It’s hopeless. I’m going to lose her.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t know that until it’s out there on the table and you deal with it. I don’t understand, this isn’t like you. You’ve always been so straightforward and above board.”

To my horror my throat actually tightens with emotion. Fucking alcohol betraying me. I shake my head and grind my teeth to repress it.

Shelly’s face softens around the edges, her mouth losing that disapproving line. “Oh, honey.”

I shake my head again. “I love her.”

She nods. “Yeah, I know.”

“She’s perfect for me, and I’m going to lose her.” I blow out a frustrated breath. “I’m thinking…” I can barely say the words but they are lurking in the back of my brain. “Maybe I shouldn’t take the fellowship.”

Shock flashes across Shelly’s features, and she’s already vehemently shaking her head. “No. Jace. You’ve got to take it. It will make your career.”

Shelly is a neurosurgeon and about as dedicated to her career as someone can get. She also has a fellowship at University of Chicago so it’s easy for her to say.

I scowl. “What if this were you and Ted? What would you do?”

“We’d work it out. One way or another it wouldn’t break us.”

I glance down the hallway. “We need to get back.”

“Tell her, Jace. Get it over with because you’re making it worse.”

“I’m going to tell her.”

“You’d better.”

I don’t say anything else, but turn and stalk back to the table.

When I sit down, Fleur frowns at me. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s great,” I lie.

Anger seethes through me, not at Shelly, because of course she’s right, but at myself for creating this mess.

Fleur bites her lower lip. “Okay.”

I’ll deal with it.

Later today I’ll tell her, and this will be over.

I’ll lose her, but at least this weight will be off my chest.

I hate it, but maybe I’ll be able to take solace in doing the right thing.

Doubtful, but it’s my only hope.

---

Jace moves inside me, hitting that spot only he seems to touch.

I rake my nails down his back, arching my neck and calling his name out into the darkness. He thrusts faster, harder, and the orgasm crashes over me, quaking my body with pleasure.

He follows, moaning my name as he shudders before collapsing on top of me.

He rolls off me, and we gasp for breath, staring up at the ceiling.

There’s nothing but panting silence before he finally speaks. “We need to talk.”

Every muscle that had been previously limp and satiated, tenses. This is it. As my only form of protection, I pull the sheet up over my breasts. “I know.”

“I don’t know how to say the words.”

“One by one is all you can really do.” My eyes well, even though I have no idea what he’s going to say, I just know it will be awful.

Several beats pass. “Fleur, I got a fellowship.”

I experience the barest flash of relief before reality sets in. There has to be more. I frown. “That’s good news, isn’t it? I didn’t know you were able to get another interview.”

The air grows heavy with portent and my heart sinks because I suddenly understand. I blink, hoping I’m wrong, but deep down I already know.

“That’s not the one I got.”

“Okay.” If I don’t ask any questions, maybe I won’t have to hear the truth. I clutch the sheet close to my body.

He shifts on the bed, but still doesn’t look at me. “I was offered a fellowship at Johns Hopkins… In Maryland.”

And there it is.

My heart cracks and tears slide down my cheeks, falling on the pillow. At a loss for words, I stutter out, “So that’s it?”

Next to me, he tenses. “I don’t know what to say.”

Say it’s not over.

That we’ll work it out.

That it will not end us.

That we’ll survive.

But he doesn’t say any of those things.

I know I love him. I’m not unclear on that. It had settled into my bones, right and true, and I hadn’t questioned it. What I hadn’t realized until this moment was that I’d believed he was the one. The one I’d share my life with. Buy my first house with. Have kids with. Grow old with.

In the back of my mind I’d been quietly weaving a life for us.

“Now what?” The words are like dirt.

“What else is there?”

A life that would never come true.

“When do you leave?” My voice shakes. All my fears, all my worries about what he might have said, pale in comparison to the reality of it.

“The fifteenth.” He sounds resigned.

A month. One month. Why isn’t he saying anything? I can only conclude this is the end. I swallow past all my sadness. “Do we end this now or then?”

Next to me he jerks, as though my words shock him, although I don’t know why they would. He hasn’t given any indication he wants to talk about it.

He’s leaving. End of story.

He clears his throat. “Whatever you want, Fleur.”

I want you to fight for me. For us.

But he doesn’t. He stays completely silent. Unnaturally still.

Finally, it gets too much for me. I need to be alone. Staring up at the ceiling, unblinking, I say, “Maybe you should go.”

Without a word he rises from the bed and gets dressed.

My throat aches from holding back the sobs.

He walks to the bedroom door and, his back to me, he says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“Just leave.”

I need him gone so my heart can break in peace.

Quietly, he opens the door and as quickly as he blew into my life, he’s gone.