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She stills for a second, then lays her head on my shoulder. My chest tightens. It’s crazy how easily we fit. How could I have convinced myself she was just another girl? How could I have convinced myself we were anything but right together?
I nuzzle into Layla’s neck, a low hum escaping from my chest after I inhale her floral scent. We are both full of words we can’t say, promises we can’t keep. But what we feel––neither of us can hide that.
Tenderly, I press my lips to Layla’s. It’s a church kiss, the kind you’d do in a chapel full of people. Totally chaste, especially by our standards. It’s not our most passionate kiss, the kind that makes me want to rip
both our clothes off. Instead, it’s a kiss full of those words that neither of us will say out loud. It’s a kiss I’ll never forget. ~
They already know about my pas, and the two big blemishes against met:
What was he doing? What the hell was he doing in there? The same thing he always does. Makes me fall in love with him. Reminds me of how well we fit. Causes that awful tug-of-war in my heart between what I want and what I know is right. And just when he makes me give in, he leaves
“I don’t want to be in love with you anymore,” I whimper and fall into his chest. He starts for a second in surprise, but quickly folds his arms around me, holding my shaking form as the tears fall before I can stop them. I start to shake violently, as much for the pain of loving him as for the pain of admitting I don’t want to anymore. Giancarlo might say mean things. He might yell or shout or throw the occasional dish. But nothing hurts more than this man’s love. Or, I should say, nothing hurts more than loving him.
she told me to stop calling. She told me we were done. I hurt her––I know I did––for not believing in us the way she did. For not taking that leap with her, and letting her fall on her own. Fuck. I’ll never regret anything more than that. Never.
pull out my phone, ready to tell her as much. Suddenly, I’m full of decision. That no matter what news comes from the FDNY, I need to get back to where I belong. I need to be with her, whether she wants to come here or wants me there. Layla and I are meant for each other––I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. We can make it work. I’m not going to pussy out anymore.
I love her. I do. I love her enough that I put my phone back in my pocket. I’ve been selfish, and I fucked things up––I have no one to blame but myself for the failure of this relationship. For the fact that she moved on with someone else. If he makes her happy––it’s a big if, but I’m not there, so what do I know?––if he does, I have to be okay with that. Because I love her enough to do the same thing she did for me. I love her enough to let her go.
“One day,” he murmurs again. “I promise.” “That’s patient of you,” I say, though relief floods through me at his words. “No, baby,” he says as he gathers me into his chest. “That’s love.”
Saudade. The word echoes through my soul, a legacy of my family, the undying desire for something that hasn’t even happened yet. Nothing captures better what I feel for this man.
this kiss isn’t full of sadness, full of goodbyes. It’s full-bodied, a kiss that holds desire, hunger, all the promise of love and tomorrow and what the world might hold for us. It’s a kiss that sweeps all the doubts out of my mind, that will emanate through me for days to come.
“All right,” I tell her as I take her hand. “Where’s your bag? We need to get out of here. I need to get you home.” Layla lays her head on my shoulder. Even just that simple touch sends tremors of happiness through my chest. “What do you mean?” she asks with another bright smile. “I am home. I’m with you.”
