Page 124 of Finding Storm

And it’s stupid. I’m stupid. This isn’t a surprise. It was always coming. He was always going back to LA.

Why the hell are my eyes watering?

I blink back the tears, ignoring the burn in my throat.

“Stevie—” He steps toward me, but I lift a hand, stopping him.

“It’s fine. I mean, we both knew this wasn’t forever, right?” I grab hold of my ponytail. Wrapping it around my hand, I tug on it to direct the pain away from my heart to my head. “So, when do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

That I’m not prepared for. I thought I’d have a couple of days to come to terms with it.

But … tomorrow.

God … it hurts.

No. It’s fine.

This is good. Rip the Band-Aid off.

I’m fine.

“Stevie—fuck. This isn’t—”

“It’s fine! Tomorrow is good.” My voice sounds abnormally bright and high-pitched. It must be clear as day to him that I’m close to the breaking point.

I mean, there’s no point in prolonging the inevitable. And we had a good run, right? It’s been … fun.

Fun? What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s been the best time of my life, being with him. And I currently feel like someone just uppercut me in the heart. And that’s all I’ve got.

He’s staring at me. I can see the indecision in his eyes. In a way, it’s good to know I’m not completely alone in this. That it is hard for him too.

But he’s the one leaving you.

My sneaky subconscious rears her ugly head.

I hate that my mind does that.

Puts doubt into what I know.

Because he does have a life in LA. Just like I have a life here.

I can’t expect him to give that up for me. Just like he couldn’t expect me to give my life up here for him.

“That’s what the phone call was about?”

His eyes sweep the floor before coming back to meet mine. They are the brightest I’ve ever seen them. They remind me of the blue fire you see on a Bunsen burner.

“Zane … the VP at the label. That’s who called. I’m expected back. The album … we’ve a month before recording. The songs aren’t written. The boys write some … but predominantly, I write them. I have to …” He sighs, a sad sound. “I have to go home.”

“I know.” I nod, still fighting back those fucking tears.

God, I need to get the hell out of here. I can’t cope with the way I’m feeling right now. It hurts too much to be around him. I need some space to clear my head, and then I’ll be fine.

“Okay … so …” I’m blindly reaching back, trying to find the door handle. “I … have … some stuff to do.” Got it. Thank you, Jesus. I need to get out of here before I break down and do something stupid, like beg him to stay. “I guess … I’ll catch up with you later. Before you leave.”

I’m out of that door and closing it behind me and running back down the stairs. I’m out of the house and in my car. I back out of the driveway and hit Call on my phone.