For the second time tonight, I take it.
I shouldn’t. I know that. I should be putting distance between us, because this can’t continue. I mean, I told him I loved him last week, and he never said anything about it. That has to mean he doesn’t feelthe same, right? That I’ve been imagining that this thing between us could be more?
I can’t keep putting myself out there. I don’t have anything left to give, not after this week.
Ezra leads us to the dance floor, and “The Way You Look Tonight” begins to play.
“I love this song,” he says as he draws me into his arms, and I fall against him like it’s where I belong.
“I didn’t take you for a Sinatra kind of guy. He’s a bit sappy for you, no?”
“Maybe. But remember when I said I have flashes of what my life was like with my parents?”
I falter in my steps, but if Ezra notices, he doesn’t say. He just holds me close, getting me back on track.
“Them dancing to this song is one of them,” he continues. “They’d put a record on long after I’d already gone to bed and sway in the kitchen. They thought they were being quiet, but they weren’t. I’d hear them from time to time and tiptoe out to the hallway to watch them. It’s stuck with me all these years.”
Tears spring to my eyes.
How can someone who witnessed that not believe in love? How can he not want that too?
His hand tightens on my back, pulling me closer.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” he says into my ear. “And I’m glad you came with me.”
I can’t. I can’t do this.
I can’t listen to him say sweet words into my ear, not when I feel the way I do about him and not when he can’t give me more.
So I run.
“Summer!” he calls after me, but I don’t stop.
I keep going. I need air. I need to not be inside. I need to not be in his arms. Not when he’s looking at me like he is.
“Summer!”
I push through the crowd, undoubtedly drawing attention, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
The cool new autumn air slides over me, and I gulp in breath after breath as I rush as far away from the people and noise as I can.
I just need a minute. I need to think. I need to be alone. I need—
“Summer, please!”
I carry on.
“Fuck, I love you!”
I stop.
But I don’t turn around. I can’t. Because if I do, I’m going to give in to him, and I can’t do that.
“I know I said I didn’t believe in it—and maybe I still don’t—but I believe in you. I believe in this ... in us. It’s real, and what I feel for you is really fucking real. Being close to you this week but not being able to touch you ... it killed me. I feel like I’m dying, and I’m not ready to. I’m not ready because I want so many more years with you. Ineedso many more. Just like I need you. You ...” I hear him suck in deep breaths. “You make me feel whole again. You make me feel like I did when I was still playing. You give me purpose. You give me strength. Fuck, you make me feel like I matter, and I haven’t felt like that in a long damn time. I love you, Sunny. And I don’t want you to push me away. I don’t want you to shut me out. I just ... I love you.”
My vision blurs on the edges, and I worry I might pass out for a moment. I realize it’s because I haven’t taken a breath—not a real one—since he started talking.
I don’t use my words lightly. I don’t say things I don’t mean.
