AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Shit.Did I say that out loud?Shit, shit, shit.
When I don’t respond after a moment, he pulls his hand away. The summer night air turns frigid as I work up the courage to sit up and say something. Anything. The longer I remain silent, the longer I shut him out, the longer I don’t let him help… it’s a setup for disaster, for the end.
And I am not ready for this to be the end of us. But I also don’t know how to explain the cacophony in my head. The confusion of how I feel. The desire totellhim how I feel—love shadowed by fear. Either way, I need to say something.
Just tell him what you meant. That dealing with this lunatic has you batty.
I lift my head from my knees, swallow past the panic-induced lump in my throat, and open my mouth to confess to Braydon. But he isn’t there.
My eyes scan the shadowed sea of faces, but none belong to him. “Maybe he went to get water,” I mutter, not an ounce of conviction in my voice.
When the fireworks end, the spectators fold up blankets and collapse chairs. They shoulder totes and carry sleeping children to cars. Fetch coolers and toss trash in nearby bins. All the while, I sit here alone, hoping to see him in the thinning crowd.
But he isn’t here. He left. He got up and walked away. All because I couldn’t engage with him. All because I opened my mouth and said the wrong damn thing in a weak moment.
“Damnit.”
I pull my phone from my back pocket, unlock it, and open the messaging app. Clicking on our text history, I type a quick message and hit send.
Alessandra
Where are you?
The bubble pops up and dances across the screen.
Braydon
In the apartment. Packing.
Packing? He’s leaving.
I bolt up, gather the blanket under my arm, and dash for home.
He can’t leave. Not like this. Not because of a misunderstanding.
How many times have I stopped myself from telling Braydon I love him because I feared losing him? More than I have fingers to count.
He said I didn’t need to say the words yet. To say them when I felt ready. That he would wait. But this—him walking away and abandoning me while I search for the right words—is the worst type of pain. Like a punch to the solar plexus with spiked brass knuckles.
I’d saidI can’t do this, but I wasn’t talking about him or us. I meant I couldn’t get frisky in the park with half the town nearby.
I jog down the alley, two buildings away, when I see him bound down the stairs, duffel slung over his shoulder.
“Braydon. Wait,” I yell, winded.
He jerks to a stop beside his driver’s side door, chest heaving, back to me. “Now you want to talk? Now you cando this?” Venom and heartache lace his words, and guilt gnaws at my heart.
I wrap my fingers around his forearm and he flinches, but I don’t let go.Stab and twist.“I didn’t mean us when I said that earlier.”
“Should’ve known.” He shakes his head. “Since the day I opened my mouth and told you I loved you, you’ve been pulling away. Shutting me out.” His hands ball into fists. “Fuck!” he yells, his voice bouncing off the buildings in the alley.
“It’s not because you said you love me,” I whisper.
He spins around and drops his duffel with a heavy thud. “No?”
I shake my head incrementally. “No.”
“Then why?”
