“We should cancel the house hunting,” he says, and my heart skips a beat.
Is he giving up? Did his patience finally snap? Has an hour with my family confirmed for him I’m not worth the trouble?
The panic sets in. It doesn’t sneak in. It just detonates.
“Liam…” I can’t say what he needs to hear, and anything else just sounds pointless.
“Easy, Thunder.” He strokes my back. “We will hunt for a house when you’re ready. I will get a suite next door for now. It’s a hotel for long-term rentals. Like an apartment, but with all the hotel services. We can go look at it now, so you can decide if you like it.”
I let out a long, shaky breath. “I don’t deserve you.”
He studies me, war brewing behind his eyes. “Love is not something you deserve. It’s something you allow.”
“I’m scared I will lose myself,” I whisper, finally opening up to him.
“Being together is a risk, but it can also be safety. You’re my safety. Let me be yours.”
Tears prickle behind my eyes. I clasp his lapels, holding him close. The oxygen doesn’t reach my lungs properly.
I hold on to him, even though I can’t claim him. But I can’t let him go either.
If I stay pressed against him like this, I’ll say yes to everything. And I won’t know if it’s love… or surrender.
“I’m scared that if I stay, I’ll stop thinking entirely. Everything is too confusing at the moment. It’s the circumstances. How we started. The baby that binds us forever. Your reassuring presence. Your steady support. Your love. I can’t think with you around me.” Tears roll freely now.
“What are you saying, Thunder?” He swallows.
He doesn’t move his hands away, and I can feel him flexing his fingers, the heels of his palms digging into my skin.
“I need space. And time. I need to be alone to figure this all out. To be sure.” Something in my chest cracks, dislodging a piece I might never get back.
His Adam’s apple bobs. “How much?”
“A month?”
He narrows his eyes. “Two weeks.”
I raise my eyebrows. I can’t believe he’s turning this into a negotiation. But also, I can believe it. And I’m grateful for it.
“Three weeks,” I counter, my voice shaking. I breathe lighter and heavier at the same time.
He studies me. Like he is committing to memory every single line on my face, the shade of my eyes, the shape of my nose. “I don’t like it.”
It’s a statement. No pressure. No control. Just information for me.
I open my mouth, but he cuts me offwith a kiss. A kiss saying goodbye for now. A kiss that is supposed to make me remember him. And God, I will never forget the kiss.
Because I kiss him back. With all I can give, and everything I can’t give yet. What I can’t declare with words and actions yet, I channel into the kiss.
His lips are firm and soft at the same time. His tongue is persistent and adapting. His breath is warm and safe.
He kisses me like this is our last kiss.
Devastation.
Ruin.
Grief.
