Page 168 of Love Felt Like This

“You know what I meant,” I say. “I should have known better.”

“You couldn’t have.”

I go quiet. My body is tense—so tense it hurts my limbs to even stand here.

“You’re right,” he murmurs. “I’m not normal. This is what my life is like.” He traces fingers down to my jaw and my shoulders, sending shivers over my skin, even through my thick purple coat. “Things just…happen. Things I don’t want out there. Things about people I care for.” His jaw tics. “People I want kept just for myself.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

And the thought strikes me again: Damn it, Beau. Everything sucks because he sucks. Rob is distraught over a brother he once had. Ava’s life will be public knowledge way before she’s ready. And Griffin is trapped in his private life. Again. No room to laugh with his daughter or eat at a diner or escape to a bench at a lookout.

I bet Beau is grinning somewhere, watching video after video pop up with theories about Ava, her mother, and Griffin’s life. I don’t know how he knew, but he was sure quick to make a statement. He made some post that would disappear in twenty-four hours, only to get screenshotted into infinity, which of course it would be.

But God, I don’t want to think about Beau right now.

I’m tired of thinking about Beau, Beau, Beau.

I only want to think about Griffin.

“I’ll mail you some pancakes,” I say.

He chuckles but doesn’t banter back. Maybe, being next to an airplane, we’re past jokes.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” he says. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine. “You’ve gotta help decorate my house, remember?”

“Of course,” I answer, but it feels empty in my chest.

The magic of our time in Elk Grove is slipping away.

Griffin is going on tour soon. I’m pitching a show. And, if I’m lucky, I’ll get funding, and then my life will be consumed with work for every hour, day, week, and month. If Griffin had any semblance of free time, that house would have been decorated by now. He has a life, a career, an album to record, and a tour.

I know that, and so does he.

“Let me know when you land,” I say.

“I’ll see you soon,” he repeats. “Okay?”

But I’m a terrible liar, so I kiss him instead of answering. He tenses as if caught off guard; then Griffin clutches my jaw to pull me closer, cupping the nape of my neck and holding me steady, like our kiss grounds him to the tarmac. I know it does for me. Our kiss feels like fire, deep in my belly, flickering and keeping light. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against mine, and the candle dims.

I force a smile. He does the same. He doesn’t call me out for not agreeing.

I’ve been here before. I’ve been at an airport, kissing someone goodbye as he made his way back to California, back to his busy life without me. He’s not Beau. Griffin is a good man. I believe him when he says he wants to see me.

He’s not Beau.

But Griffin still loves what he does, and so do I.

Chapter Thirty-Five

…Tragically

Griffin

I’ve been back in LA for a couple of days, and my house is already colder than I remember. It’s not the type of Elk Grove chill, with gentle snow and small breezes. My house is empty. Frigid. Instead of wood paneling, the walls are gray. No framed photos or high school awards. It smells like Pine-Sol from my cleaner—not freshly washed blankets or syrup.

Poe looks out my floor-to-ceiling windows with his arms crossed. Beyond my gate, cars linger as photographers peer into camera lenses.