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His actions indicate he won’t.
“Can we just…talk about this?”
He carries onward in silence.
“Can we at least discuss leaving together?”
At that he spins on his heels yet continues walking backwards. “What’s there to discuss, June?” A small bounce of the shoulders shakes his frame. “You wanna stay a few more days so you have a job to possibly come back to after you spend a couple weeks somewhere new to you freaking out about the fact you don’t know where you are or what you’re doing or anyone there besides me. You wanna stay a few more days to go to some fucking wedding where no one actually gives a fuck if you are there or not because it isn’t you who’s the wayward member, but me. You’re just the hired hand they hoped to shepherd me back to a life I don’t want to be a part of.”
New, unmatched aches begin in the center of my chest.
“You want me to stick around so we can fight about, what? Your fear of being out in the world on your own? Your fear of going after what it is you want? Your fear of dreaming big and seeing more than just the city lines of Highland?” He shakes his head without hesitation. “I’d rather get back out there and get back to living than wasting time trying to convince someone else how.”
His callousness cuts off any ability to retort.
To keep walking.
To follow after someone who is actively trying to cross me off their list before they leave.
“I love you, June Bailey.” He states at the same time he finally reaches the door. “And I don’t wanna live without you, but I can’t live like you. And you can’t live like me. So, before we reach for the bucket of resentment – shit that’s already filled to the brim – let’s just end it here. Put the paintbrush down and walk our separate ways before Fate finds a much more painful method for fucking us over.”
All the tears I had somehow managed to keep at bay ruthlessly spill over without my consent.
Because what does my consent matter?
Because what do my feelings matter?
When have they ever mattered much to someone who wasn’t me?
Tucker delivers one last nod my direction, opens the front door, and heads for the waiting female that I recognize as Maria, the waitress from my birthday celebration.
The woman he hooked up with before he ran away the first time.
Huh.
Further proof that he really is a liar.
That I was just something convenient.
And now that the convenience of me is gone, he’s reached out to another.
Which is great for him but what does that mean for me?
What does all of this mean for me?
Chapter 18
Tucker
Fuck, I miss sleep.
Like I knew I wasn’t going to get much the first night, but I didn’t think I wouldn’t get any for all three.
Sure, sleeping with June was definitely easier; however, sleeping without her shouldn’t be fucking impossible.
The ache in my chest deepens the same way it always does when I think about her.
Which is constantly.
I’m almost never not thinking about her.
Or her laugh.
Or her smile.
Or seeing her bump into things.
Being the one to check out the new pain and kiss it better.
Two fingers from my hand I’m resting my face on inch over to rub my temple.
I did the right thing.
Probably.
Pretty sure.
Most…likely.
Ending us rather than dragging her on a journey I’m clearly meant to venture alone was the right call.
I’m not the one in the business of making those they love fucking miserable.
That’s the woman who’s having a wedding reception tomorrow and getting married on some yacht Sunday.
“Maria made us coffee,” Adolfo announces at the same time he places both cups down on the restaurant patio table I’m currently occupying. “She said she wanted to stick around but her boyfriend needed her help picking out something to wear to his big important interview.”
“And Michelle?”
“Taking the kids to daycare.” He pushes the plastic ramekin containing sugar packet towards me. “Daycare that did not interest them when they could be making chalk art with Uncle Tuck all day instead.”
I present him with a small smirk.
I love engaging in art activities with kids.
They’re so innocent and free when they create. Their works reflect the things that they love versus the sadness they can’t shake.
Deeper pangs pulse in the same spot as the others.
Mine had finally gotten to a point where I could express both.
Part of me believes that may never happen again.
Adolfo taps the edge of the holder. “Sugar?”
My girlfriend’s – er – ex-girlfriend’s words about knowing me so well reverberate so brutally around my brain that I rapidly shake my head.
Deny what it is that I want to disprove the point spoken in rightful outrage a few days ago.
Fuck, I can hardly believe we’ve only been apart three days.
