Page 88 of Wildflowers and Wide Receivers

There is no place in the world that is better than this, and as I make love to her—yes, I do fully know that’s what I’m doing—my heart does its best to speak to hers. “Don’t leave,” it whispers. “I’m in love with you,” it damn near cries, but I refuse to voice any of these sentiments. Not today, and maybe not ever. Do I want to beg her to stay? Of course, but there’s a feeling deep in the pit of my stomach that says, “Don’t do that. It’s not fair.”

I can’t be the one to prevent her dreams from coming true. I just wish more than anything that I was her dream, like she was mine.

Chapter 35

Sophie

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, I wake and find Jonah’s side of the bed empty. I stretch my hand across the sheets, and they are not warm. They’re cold. He’s been gone for a while, and the nerves in my stomach instantly awaken.

Slipping out of bed, I find his T-shirt on the floor and pull it over my head. The fabric is soft, and it smells just like him. I feel like I’m being hugged by him, even though he isn’t here, and I really need that right now.

Looking around his room, I soak in the details that are his, as it’s quite possible this might be the last time I see them. From the bookshelf that holds travel books, sports books, a few classics and photo albums to the Tom Brady autographed football and a picture of him and his family at a Patriots game from when he was a boy to another draft photo of him and his brother both wearing Carolina gear. There are mementos of his life, athletic shoes scattered on the floor near the chair in the corner, and a sand dollar on the far nightstand that I know if I flip it over, it’ll have the date from when we were at the beach. He is a good man, but I don’t know if he’s meant to be mine. I want him to be. I’m just not sure yet how to make this work.

Quietly, I tiptoe down the stairs not to wake Molly or Vivi, and I find Jonah sitting on the couch in the dark with his elbows on his knees and his head bent forward, resting in his hands. He’s only wearing a pair of shorts. A half glass of water is sitting in front of him and the room is dead silent.

Not to scare him, I breathe a little louder and drag my hand across the couch so he hears me. He doesn’t lift his head. He doesn’t even acknowledge me.

Tucking one leg underneath me, I gently sit next to him and wait.

I know seeing that folder and the offer letter hurt him. It was never my intention to hurt him, and I was careless about not making sure it was put away. I was also reckless in not figuring out how to discuss this with him before we got to this point.

Time passes, and he sniffs a few times. Eventually, he leans back on the couch and drops his head to rest it behind him. He’s not staring at the ceiling; his eyes are closed, but the stress on his face is so evident, my heart aches more than it did upstairs.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers.

“Do what?”

“Any of it,” he lets out, and then he swallows, the lines of his throat moving.

The large windows in this room let in enough moonlight for me to see him through all of the shadows. His chin trembles, and his nostrils flare just a bit as he inhales air.

Oh God.

He curls his hands into themselves as they rest on his lap and pulls his arms closer.

“All night, I’ve asked myself, if I had known from the beginning that you were not planning on staying, would I have done things differently? And I don’t think I would have. In fact, I’m pretty sure I would have put together some type of ‘Win Sophie Over’ campaign, just to try to convince you to stay. Although, I’m not sure if that is what you would have wanted or if it would have mattered. I’m thinking it’s the latter as we never once talked about this.”

Of course he doesn’t know. I didn’t really want to talk about it with him. We skimmed the surface one night over dinner, but I never led him to believe that there was a possibility that I might not be staying. I can see how from his vantage point that might look different, but we haven’t been together that long. Who’s to say we would have even gotten along? I didn’t know, and neither did he.

Was it wrong of me? Seeing his reaction right this moment, most definitely. But up until this point, he might not have wanted me for anything more than what we are. Fun during the day, and sneaking around at night. Any sane person wouldn’t make life decisions based on that, but I kept this from him. I can try to justify this any way I want, but it doesn’t matter. I hurt him.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out like you did. They told me they were interviewing several people, so I wasn’t even aware of the timeline. I’d somehow convinced myself that I wasn’t going to get it. After all, I’d been inquiring off and on for over a year now, but I had to see it through. I got the call from them earlier today, and then the FedEx package was on my doorstep when I got home. I was going to tell you.”

“I’m sure you were,” he grumbles, but not in a sarcastic way, just resigned.

“Jonah . . .” I say quietly, but he just shakes his head, keeping his eyes shut.

I scoot a little closer and place my hand over his on his thigh and watch his chest rise and fall in the darkness. He doesn’t try to lace our fingers together, something he’s always done since we started spending time together. In fact, he pulls them in tighter, and a stab of pain pierces through me.

“I’m so overwhelmed, I don’t even know where to begin,” he says as a single tear leaks out of the corner of his eye and runs down his face.

Oh no.

Instantly, mine swell as well.

“Talk it out with me, please,” I beg him softly. I’m sure that Vivi’s meltdown is a lot of what has him twisted up inside, but I’m certain that I am part of the reason he’s feeling like this, too. And I hate it. I never want to hurt him.

“I just didn’t see it coming,” he says.