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Then I’m consumed by the roar of his release beneath my ear and into my heart, beating at the same frantic pace as the pulse between my legs. He surges into me, once, twice, jerking with each offering. I lick his shoulder, relishing his sweet saltiness, before whispering what he needs to hear.
“Yes, Carter. We’re perfect. We’ve always been perfect.”
We lie entwined until our bodies cool. Tears burn against my lids. I struggle to hold them in as he kisses and sucks on my neck.
Reality intrudes one second at a time, and finally, he lifts to his elbows, eyes narrowing as he watches me.“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“What are you talking about?” I choke out.
“Something’s wrong. I see it in your eyes. Your body betrays you. You’ve trusted me with your heart, why can’t you trust me with your soul?” he asks.
“No.” I shake my head with too much vehemence. I can’t lose him tonight, not after what we just shared.
He winces. “There’s nothing you could say that would change how I feel about you, what we all feel about you.”
Now it’s my turn to wince, because I know he’s wrong. When I started this lie, I was relying on memories of the passion and love that we’d shared to guide me in my decision. My memories were merely a shadow of what our real love is like, the difference between black and white and perfect Technicolor.
Despair. Desire. I feel them both as I look at him lying there beside me, sprawled out like an insolent king.
His brow settles into three lines, clearly outlined under the glittering stars and a moon so large that I feel like I could reach out and touch it if I tried.
“I can’t tell you yet.” Tears burst from my eyes. The first heave hurts, the second is unbearable as the reality of my situation barrels forward to slaughter a future I’ve tried so hard to pretend could come true.
“No, baby, please don’t.” He grabs my arms and hauls me against him.
But his caress and the murmured words meant to soothe make me cry harder, and then I let it come. I fully let myself understand what it means to be dying. I’ve closed the true reality off in my head like an unwelcome enemy.
I should end this now. The cold truth seeps into my soul, hardening all the walls that Carter, Logan, and Quaid have cracked wide open.
I should walk away right now so that they can hate me for leaving, and not hate me for dying.
Wiggling free, I kneel, as if the separation will lessen the sting when it comes. Of all the awful things I’ve endured, this will be the worst.
I love him, I love them, but not with the pureness I did for my father. This is a greedy, needful, brimming with strength, hot and lustful, sweet and crooning love. The kind of love that destroys everything in its path with a promise of a forever that can never come.
I’m dying.
This mantra slices through my feigned calm and lashes against my heart in hurtful strokes. I steady myself with cleansing breaths, one deep lungful after another as I work through the pain. There is no preparation for this kind of realization.
It hurts. It hurts so fucking much, the jabs rip into my veins, it slices at my organs. A sob erupts from my chest, and I close my lips around it.
I cough at the lump that’s built up in my chest and glance at Carter. His eyes are expressionless, unreadable, as if he’s closed himself off to prepare for whatever I’m holding back from him.
“Just hold me,” I whisper finally, because I realize that at this moment, I’m too weak to leave them.
I just have to figure how to leave before the end.
Carter’s heat is potent as he moves behind me, close. Not a second later, he reaches beneath my knees and sweeps me up, tucking me in so my nose is pressed to his neck. And for each sob, the gasp that follows is full of him. He stands up and walks us over to the blanket. My skin is itchy and tight from the sand drying. It’s a testament to how amazing the sex was just now that I didn’t realize how uncomfortable it really was to make love on a beach.
I’ll be getting sand out for days.
We settle down on the blanket, his whispered words lost in my hitching breath and the bouts of crying that come and go, until there’s nothing left. Reaching into the basket, he hands me a napkin, and for some reason, I start crying even harder. I hate my weakness, but I love him more, so I struggle out of his tight hold and stare into his shining eyes. They’re filled with so much compassion, he blurs again under the waterworks that seem endless.
“Baby,” he whispers so softly, I barely hear him over the pounding of my heart. “Don’t cry please, my sweet Valentina.”
I sniff and look at him through wet lashes. I touch his cheek. He nudges into my palm as if he needs me as much as I do him.
“My sweet girl.” He cups my nape, tipping my head with the fingers.
