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“I’ll be making real money now. It will be nice not to have to rely on you for so much and be able to take care of you.”
“You know that’s never been an issue.”
“It’s an issue for me.”
“I get that.”
He rolls us so we’re on our sides, face-to-face.
“I love you,” he tells me, brushing the hair off my face.
“I love you, too.”
I’m not perfect, though he makes me feel like I am. But maybe that’s because we’re perfect for each other. Cillian is very tolerant of my fiery temper and impatience; in return, I’m accepting of how his schedule rarely can prioritize me. He works hard and when he gets a break, sometimes he needs to entertain himself with things that allow him to decompress. If that means he needs a couple of hours playing Modern Warfare or whatever, I don’t complain. I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself on the other side of the couch. I love video games anyway, so we often play one together.
In the three years we’ve been together, we haven’t had many hard times or arguments. Speed bumps, sure, but nothing that we haven’t gotten past with anything more than a thoughtful conversation. He shows me the same type of care and support that my family does, and I do the same for him.
“We’re going to be okay.” The words are meant to reassure me, but I think he’s trying to convince himself. And for the first time, I’m nervous about it all.
* * *
The months pass too quickly, and before we know it, the day of Cillian’s departure is upon us. My anxiety has been at an all-time high these last two days while helping him make last-minute arrangements and pack his belongings. Though, I’ve tried very hard to hide it from him, I know he’s picked up on some of it.
We’ve been so connected at the hip since we were sixteen that it’s going to be a huge adjustment, not to mention that I’ll miss him like crazy. Everything since draft day has been a whirlwind. Cillian has dealt with so much press and paperwork, on top of the logistics of moving across the country. Luckily, one of the guys on the team, Torsten, is someone he knows from youth camps and has offered to let him room with him. It’s made everything easier, since Cill only had to worry about clothes and gear instead of apartment and furniture shopping.
It makes me feel better knowing he won’t be completely alone either.
“You’ll be there for the first game?”
“Quit asking, you know I will be. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” I press another kiss to his lips.
“I’m going to miss you,” he tells me between kisses.
“The way you’ve been stripping me naked every chance you get kind of clued me in to that.”
“Two months is a long time; I’m just stocking up.”
“Orgasms? You’re stocking up orgasms?”
“No, brat. I’m stocking up on you.”
“Time will fly, Cill. You’ll be busy with practices, and I’ll get a jump on all my classes. Before you know it, you’ll be scoring your first goal in your NHL game and then fucking me blind afterward.”
He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms more tightly around me. So much shorter than him, I have to tip my chin up on his chest to maintain eye contact. Cill has grown to six-foot-two, three quarters of a ruler taller than me.
“We’ll video call every night,” he says almost like it’s a question.
“Hey.” I squirm my arms under his so I can reach to cup his cheeks. “I’m never going to not be there for you. If you need me, call, and I’ll answer. Night or day.”
We’re both fully aware that Cillian is closer to me than anyone in his life. Including his mother. They love each other, unconditionally, of course. But he grew up so much on his own until he moved here, and we started dating. It’s made us very dependent on one another. For all the parts I hate about him moving away, maybe it’s good for us in ways too.
Maybe this will make us stronger as both people and a couple.
“Who’s going to hang out with you when there’s a thunderstorm?”
“In two years, we’ll probably only have two at most.” I’m a storm chaser at heart, completely fascinated by them. While we get plenty of windstorms here, thunder and lightning are fairly rare. I love them when they do occur. “I’ll call you if there is one and you can still hang out with me.”
“Not the same,” he mumbles, kissing my forehead for punctuation.
