Page 86 of Tastes Like Summer

“That’s not why I’m crying,” she finally speaks, her voice breaking once.

I shake my head. “Then I don’t understand. What happened? Is it something he said? Because if he hurt you…” My hands fist on her thighs, but I stretch them out once again, not wanting to lose control.

“I was the one who asked him to leave.”

“Oh.” That’s… interesting. “Can I ask why? I mean, I know he’s a pain in the ass, and believe me when I say I’m not sad to see him go. But I’m confused. I thought you wanted him around so the girls could spend time with him—especially since the fucker completely ghosted them this summer.”

She winces. “I know. I know I should’ve let him stay because they missed him and he’s their father but… But they don’t need to see us fighting again. And they don’t need to see more conflict.”

“What were you fighting about?”

She shakes her head. “Dumb stuff.” But she can’t look me in the eye when she answers.

And since I’m not an idiot, I ask, “Was it about me? Were you arguing about me?” Because of course the guy is jealous. Three months of radio silence and suddenly he shows up as soon as his daughter mentions my existence in one of her letters? Come on.

She bites her lower lip. Another tear streaks down her cheek. “Yes,” she admits in a whisper. “He’s… he’s not happy about us.”

Bile rising in my throat, I scoot closer to her, my grip unconsciously tightening around her legs, preparing myself to keep her here before the universe tries to take her away from me.

“Why would he be? He’s a narcissist who can’t get over the fact that his gorgeous, brilliant, incredible ex-wife is moving on. To add insult to injury, this man she’s moving on with—me—also cares deeply about said narcissist’s daughters.”

“Yeah.”

I cup her face in my hands, dig my fingers in her hair, and bring her closer to me to press a kiss on her lips. Diana’s hands come up to grip my shoulders, nails digging into me through the fabric. I groan, because I don’t hate it one bit. Part of me wants her to mark me. Part of me wants a reminder that she was there everywhere I go.

Before the kiss deepens too much, I pull away but keep my forehead pressed to hers. We’re quiet as we try to catch our breath, and it takes a minute. After all, one kiss is enough to light a fire inside us both.

“What exactly did he say about us that upset you so much?” I ask.

She scrunches her eyes shut for a few seconds before pulling away. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

“Come on, Dee. Just tell me before I fucking go crazy here.”

She shrugs once. “That we’re not going to make it, Michael.”

I think she calls my name, asks me if I’m okay, but my heartbeat is loud in my ears, and I can barely process what she just said. Because she told me she already knew the things Rodrigo upset her with. Which means she thinks we’re not going to work out. And that’s just… unacceptable.

I shake her off and pace in front of my desk. She gets up and catches me by the elbow, forcing me to look at her.

“Michael.”

“So you agree with him? You don’t think we’re going to make it?” I can hear the tremble in my voice, something I think I’ve only experienced once in my life. The night I found out Jessie had died and Rachel was coming home with me.

“I can’t take her. I’m not meant to be a dad. This is a horrible idea. Find someone else,” I begged Rachel’s grandparents over the phone. It was a plea from a desperate man. The sound of pure denial and fear of a life you never imagined for yourself—one you believed with your whole being you never wanted. Yes, having Rachel come into my life as my daughter turned out to be the most incredible thing that ever happened to me. But I have a feeling that losing Diana will be the worst. I have a feeling I won’t recover.

“I… I care about you. Deeply.” Her voice is shaky, her lips trembling. “B⁠—”

“Do not say but. If you value my sanity, Diana, do not tell me there is a but.” I can barely get the words out, my lungs feel so constricted. “If you care about me deeply, do not tell me there isn’t a way to work things out. Because we can do anything together.”

“Michael.” She takes a deep breath, and I know she’s steeling herself to shatter my heart. “Michael, this isn’t going to work out. I think we should break up.”

No.

The pain in Michael’s face is clear and heartbreaking. Earth shattering. It burns every inch of my body, pummels every ounce of my soul, and pierces through my heart so sharply I can barely finish telling him how I feel. I’m sure it mirrors the look on my face, too.

But what I need to tell him and what comes next are necessary, because I know that if I let myself fall deeper than I already am—and I know I could—there’s no way I would ever recover. The way I feel about Michael is stronger than anything I ever felt for any other man, and while right now I cannot fathom ever feeling this way for anyone else, I have to end it.

“You want to break up?” he asks. “Baby, we’ve barely even started! What the hell is going on? Tell me, because I’m going out of my mind. Did we not decide last night that we were going to try? Did we not agree that this was worth the trouble we knew long-distance was going to be? That we care enough about each other to try and make this work?” He runs both his hands through his hair, a wild look of desperation in his eyes. “I don’t understand how you could be so callous about this.”