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What I hear is that Juliette doesn’t feel the same way as I do. If she did, there’s no way in hell she’d be willing to take a step back from our relationship or spend any time apart.
“I guess,” I mutter, feeling like a humongous asshat.
She reaches out and wraps her fingers around mine. “It’s not what I want, but I think it’s what we both need. I don’t want either of us to have regrets.”
I hear what she’s saying loud and clear. She needs to focus on what’s important.
FYI—that’s not me.
Even though it feels impossible to clear the thick emotion clogging my throat, I force myself to say, “I know how much med school means to you, and I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
“And I don’t want to derail hockey or your dreams of playing in the NHL,” she says softly, blinking away the tears that sting her eyes, making them look shiny in the sunlight.
I drag a hand through my hair and glance away, staring at the red brick building that looms in the distance. When I caught sight of Juliette ten minutes ago, I never imagined this was how our conversation would play out. It’s so damn tempting to argue. To tell her that we can find a way to balance everything in our lives.
We don’t have to let this go.
Or walk away.
But…
I refuse to do anything that will jeopardize her future. She’s worked too hard to get where she is. Whatever her dreams are, I want her to achieve them.
Whether they include me or not.
That’s the bitch of it, right?
Only now do I understand that loving someone means putting their wants and needs ahead of your own.
“Okay.”
I force my gaze back to hers. There’s so much heartbreak swirling through her dark depths.
I don’t understand it.
She’s the one breaking up with me.
Not the other way around.
With our gazes locked, I force myself to take a step away. Just as I’m about to take another, my hand snakes out and my fingers wrap around her wrist before hauling her into my arms. As soon as my lips crash onto hers, she opens enough for my tongue to slip inside and tangle with her own. The sweet taste of her floods my senses and pounds through my veins.
How am I going to go without this for the rest of my life?
Part of me expects her to fight the intimate embrace, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, she clings to me as if she’s in just as much pain as I am.
Again, it makes absolutely no sense.
I have no idea how long we kiss.
Minutes?
Hours?
All I know is that it’s not enough.
It’ll never be enough.
It takes every ounce of self-control to sever the physical connection. Instead of pulling away completely, I rest my forehead against hers and stare into her eyes. Before she can tell me to back off or how sorry she is about the breakup, I swing around and stalk away without a second look.
