Page 120 of Spring Break Fling

“And now I’m just supposed to what? Pack up and follow you to New York?”

“I’m not asking you to follow me,” I said firmly. “I’m asking you to support me.”

“And I do,” he said, his voice softer now. “I just wish I’d been part of the decision, that’s all.”

I reached for his hand again, and this time, he let me take it. “I get that. And I’m sorry. I panicked. I didn’t know how to say no.”

He sighed, squeezing my hand. “I don’t want to hold you back, Hannah. I want you to have everything you’ve worked for. I just don’t want to lose us in the process.”

“You won’t,” I said, my voice shaking. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “We’ll figure it out.”

But the uncertainty in his eyes told me he wasn’t so sure. And, if I was honest with myself, neither was I.

41

NIKKO

The steering wheel felt like a lifeline as I gripped it, my knuckles going white. My pulse thudded in my ears, drowning out whatever Hannah was saying beside me. New York in five days. Of course she took the job. Of course.

I should have known. All of this—Hannah, Boise, the last two weeks—it was too good to be true. It felt safe, solid, like maybe for once in my life, I wasn’t the one holding the short straw. But here I was again, watching the rug get yanked out from under me.

“Nikko?” she said, her voice gentle but tinged with uncertainty.

I didn’t answer, my mind cycling through every shitty moment in my past: my mom leaving when I was six, my dad pretending I didn’t exist, and every so-called friend who had bailed when things got tough. Now Hannah. I thought we were different, that she was different.

“You’re quiet,” she said softly. “Talk to me.”

“Talk to you?” I laughed, the sound bitter and hollow. “What’s there to say? You’re moving to New York, and I’m supposed to clap and cheer? Go you, Hannah, for chasing your dream and leaving me in the dust?”

Her face fell. “It’s not like that. I don’t want to leave you.”

“But you are,” I snapped, finally turning to look at her. “You’re leaving.”

“I’m not trying to abandon us,” she said, her tone defensive. “I’m trying to figure out how we make this work.”

“How we make this work?” I repeated, the anger bubbling up. “You think we’ll just jet-set every weekend, living some Taylor Swift fantasy? You in New York, me in Miami, and somehow we magically stay connected?”

“We could try,” she said, her voice growing sharp.

Long distance wasn’t going to work. We both knew it, even if neither of us wanted to admit it out loud.

“Five days,” I muttered, shaking my head. “You’re leaving in five days.”

Hannah reached over and put her hand on my leg. “We’ll figure this out.”

But something felt different this time. This wasn’t just another obstacle. This was a fundamental fork in the road of our lives. We didn’t have a long-term relationship to fall back on. We barely knew each other. Two weeks was not a relationship. She was going to go to New York and meet someone that was like her. Someone corporate. She was going to start making real money and would have no time for the broke ass tattoo artist.

I didn’t know what I was going to do. She was leaving. Why did everyone leave me? Was I just that bad? I didn’t know if there was any way for me to be better. What could I change? What the fuck was so wrong with me that no one wanted to stick around?

I reached for the radio and turned it up. Loud. I wanted to drown it all out. Thankfully, she didn’t try to turn it down. I was not in the mood to talk. I was pissed that I let myself fall for the dream. We were in love, and she was running away with me back to Miami. We were going to build a life together. She let me think she actually loved me enough to follow through. She didn’t love me enough to take this leap of faith with me.

I knew it went both ways, but New York was not for me. She loved Miami. She talked about living there and how often we would go to the beach. We talked about the restaurants we would go to and things we would do.

This was exactly why I never allowed myself to count on people. Trust no one, and no one could let you down. I glimpsed her profile, the way her jaw tightened and how she stared ahead, likely lost in her own mess of thoughts and what-ifs. I knew she was probably scripting a thousand apologies in her head, or maybe trying to rationalize her decision in a way that would make us both feel better. But there were no right words anymore, not when every sentence seemed laced with goodbye.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last, her voice carrying over the sound of the music.