She stands too far from me, her tears silent, but I feel each one like a nail in my heart.

She’s really leaving me.

“I love you, Devon. I have for a long time. I knew for certain that night in the garage with Cindy. The words just slipped out, but they were true.”

Yeah? Maybe love isn’t enough.

The enormity of how far she’ll be away from me claws at my chest.

No more her. No more kisses. No more laughter.

Her weeping destroys me, and I shove away my anger, leaving only gnawing grief. Groaning, I scrub my face and look at her. “Baby, come here.”

She eases in closer, and I stand and pull her against me, slow and easy, as I wrap my arms around her. I kiss the top of her head and inhale her vanilla scent, rubbing my cheek against the strands. I should have told her how I felt days ago, not that it would have mattered. This is what she wants regardless.

Shoving back my own pain and the primitive instinct that battles to try to change her mind—it wouldn’t be fair—I say the things I should.

“I fell for you that first night at the barn. Best kiss I ever had,” I say, my voice ragged. “Felt that zing every time I looked at you, and I couldn’t stay away. You’re everything I never knew I needed. You’re perfect; you know that?”

And not mine anymore.

Someday she’ll find someone better. Maybe a guy at CERN. That image hurts, cutting like a knife, and I push it away.

“It’s gonna be all right. You’ll be okay,” I murmur, yearning to soothe her as my fingers drift up and down her back. “You’re going to go over there and kick some serious ass. Wear those bobby pins.”

She clutches my shirt, lips trembling, anguish on her face. “I have no right to ask you to wait for me—I don’t—but there’s no one else for me but you. Can’t we try?”

I stare down at her, misery and heartache echoing around us.

Getting pieces of her when I want everything?

When every day without her would be razor blades to my heart?

No.

I cup her face and kiss her, my mouth tender. She tastes of salt and regret, and I end the touch, taking a deep breath as we pull away and gaze at each other, her blue eyes on my green ones.

Goodbye, baby.

Chapter 28

GISELLE

“Dear, it’s eleven o’clock. Your phone is pinging. You need to get up.” Myrtle’s soft voice breaks into my reverie.

“I’m awake,” I say and wince, my throat raw and sore from the tears over the past three days. I’ve been awake since five this morning. I barely slept. Swinging my legs to the floor, I sit up on her couch, my bed since I left Devon’s on Friday. My fingers pluck at the sheets she laid out for me, trailing over the white material, thinking about Devon’s bed, his fluffy down comforter; then I’m lost in images of him. I suck in a breath as fresh emotions hit me all over again, and I close my eyes and plop back down, putting my hands over my face.

A tidal wave of regret drowns me, and I don’t want to move. I turn and face the back of the couch, pulling the quilt over my shoulders.

“Giselle. Do you have class?” Rustling sounds come as she walks in from the kitchen area and settles in a flowered armchair a few feet away.

“The fellowship takes care of my classes,” I say dully.

“Your mama called again. I told her you were okay.”

“Thank you.”

“Should we go shopping?” she asks in a gentle tone.

“For what?”

“You’re going to Switzerland. It’ll be colder there, especially when fall gets here. You’ll need warm sweaters, a raincoat, thermal underclothes, maybe some scarves and gloves. You still haven’t picked up your things from the cleaners.” She sighs.

“Yeah. Okay. If you think so.” I draw circles on the flower pattern on her couch.

“Have you made flight arrangements?”

“I’ll do it today.” I blink away tears.

“You said that yesterday.”

“Did I?” I don’t remember. I can’t recall much of the past seventy-two hours. Memories play back in my head: me leaving Devon’s, grabbing my laptop and a few things while he told me to keep Red until I left, but I said I couldn’t do that and caught an Uber to Myrtle’s. I walked into her apartment, spilled my guts, then crawled onto her couch and tried to forget the world. I missed his pregame. I didn’t reply to a text from Elena asking where I was. I didn’t go to Mama’s yesterday for lunch, too tired to put myself together and face them.

“You need a shower. Pookie is offended. Not me, of course.”

I huff out a laugh, running a hand through my matted hair. “I’ll get up.” In a minute.

An hour goes by. And another. Myrtle comes and goes, offers me lunch—“No, thanks,” I say, and I drift off, my body bereft, my heart split open, my muscles and my brain so very tired.

What do you want most in the world?

Why can’t he wait for me? My hands clench, and I punch a pillow. He’s right; it isn’t fair to ask him to wait for me, to commit to a long-distance relationship when we’ve been together only a brief time—but when you know, you know—yet I’d barely see him. Sure, my parents made it work, but it was a different time, and my dad was gone only for months, not years.

Our phone calls would get fewer and fewer, him with football, me researching. I’d fly home at Christmas, and we’d have to scramble to see each other. The summer? Sure, we could meet, but what’s that brief time compared to being with him for real? I longed for him when he was in Miami, watching him with bated breath on TV, just to see his face, and I think I can go a year or more? Please.

I flip over and stare up at the ceiling fan. He’d let me go and move on, and I guess I would too. Someday. Would our threads bring us back together in the years to come? Maybe. Fate is fickle. Threads may cling to a true love’s heart, but with enough time and distance, they choose other people to love.

“Giselle! How could you let it get this bad?” Myrtle calls as she hobbles into the den from the bathroom.

“What’s wrong?” I cry out, throwing the covers off and sitting up so fast I get dizzy. My stomach rolls, nausea bubbling. Might be a good idea to eat something. Myrtle has been pushing food at me three times a day, and I’ve picked through it. A throbbing pain shoots through my head, and I grimace as I cling to the edge of the couch. Okay, okay, three days is enough time to wallow. I have to be better.

She points to her roots. “Gray!”

I squint and walk over to her in one of Devon’s shirts. I couldn’t leave it behind and stuck it in my bag. The fact that it was clean when I took it killed me. I miss his smell. God. I miss his eyes. His wicked grin.

“You’re pretty as ever.” I push out a wan smile and fluff her brown hair.

She tsks. “You should have told me how old I look. With the fire and the renovations, I haven’t had time to get it done. Lordy, John is already younger than me! I need all the tricks! He might get tired of the sex and take a good hard look at me. Can you drive me to your mama’s? You think she’ll fit me in?”

“I’m sure Mama or Aunt Clara will fit you in. Mondays are never busy.” I sigh. “I know what you’re doing, you know, trying to get me up and going.”