Page 55 of My Unfinished Heart

“You’re beautiful.” There. I said it.

He’s not buying it. If anything, he looks more miserable. “I have to go.”

“I need two more minutes.”

His composure evaporates. “To say what? To do what? This is pointless. And you know what else? It’s hurting me. This isn’t fair, Archer. The whole situation is ridiculous and bad timing, and it’s really fucking unfair.”

“You’re completely right. Timing-wise it sucks, but it isn’t the worst thing in the world. Can I tell you why?”

His gaze locks on mine, but he still looks skeptical. “Why?”

I take his hand again. I hold on tight. So does he, keeping it in his lap, which is more than I expect or deserve. “Listen—if I hadn’t met you before you moved, then it probably would have been too late. You would have gone away, and someone else would have snapped you up, and you would have forgotten all about me. But today—tonight—it’s still just you, me, and a promise.”

The full moon flashes in his eyes as they meet mine. “That promise didn’t mean anything to you.”

“No.” I shake my head for emphasis, even though it hurts. “I absolutely meant it.”

He takes a slow, deep breath. His gaze is so intense, it burns straight through the alcohol and gives me a clarity of speech I don’t expect. “I want to know you better. More. I want to know everything. And if I have to, I’ll wait. I can wait for you to come back.”

His head shakes slightly. “No. No.”

I’m not desperate anymore, I’m devastated. This is devastating. It can’t possibly end like this.

Then he says, “What if—what if I’m done waiting?”

I think my heart might explode when he says that. My will power definitely takes a big hit.

“It would fucking kill me if you forgot me again,” he adds with a strong squeeze of my hand.

I reel with relief—his confirmation that something about this is definitely mutual. That whatever part of me latched so suddenly onto him—he’s got something like it in him, too. That fact alone feels like a miracle. Because I know without ever having been told—he is so fucking special. It shines so bright in him.

“Tristan, I won’t forget.”

The expression on his face takes on a faint hint of desperation. “I really think you might. I feel like this is my last chance.”

“For what?”

“You’re already sleeping with someone else.”

“Whoa.” I hold up my free hand to stop whatever he’s about to say. “You’re leaving tomorrow, and I don’t want the last conversation we have to be about some stupid decision I made after I had a fight with West.”

His head tilts to the side, a question on his face. “You had a fight with West?”

“Yeah, but I mean—we talked about it. We’re fine.”

“What’d you fight about?’

“He got arrested…” I shake my head again. “I don’t wanna talk about him, either. I wanna talk about you. I wanna know everything I don’t know. Talk to me. I’m gonna do things right this time. I’m gonna say the right kind of goodbye.”

“What’d he get arrested for?”

“Tristan…”

“Does his mom know?”

I frown, wondering how the hell he knows about Helen. And then I remember the conversation we had in my parents’ kitchen about college applications and the SAT. He was taking notes. My head spins. I must sway because he reaches out a hand to steady me, gripping my upper arm.

“How are we talking about this right now?”