My words sound panicked. Almost the same kind of panicked my heart felt when Vince walked downstairs a while ago with a packed suitcase in his hand.
But I’m trying to rein it in. I’m trying to avoid Jagger seeing my fear.
I’m trying to not imagine history repeating itself.
“It’s just for a week,” he says. “Maybe a few days more.”
But you haven’t mentioned it to me.
“I’m going to be super busy though. Early meetings upon midday meetings upon late-night evenings. I’m not going to have much time to do anything other than work. I’ve been here for so long that I have like a month’s worth of work to catch up on.”
A reason why we can’t talk. An excuse why he’s creating distance.
“Yes?” His footsteps stop a few feet behind me. “Why aren’t you responding?”
“Okay.” I speak for the first time as I wipe down the counters with a fervor only rivaled by Mr. Clean.
“McMann. The head of Sony Music. The morning shows. The late shows. I’ve got to meet with them and . . . there are some other things I need to take care of.”
He’s leaving—running—when he said he wasn’t going to run anymore.
“I’m sorry this time here made you fall so behind.”
“Don’t be. That wasn’t what I implied. I was—”
“Don’t worry about us. I’ll make arrangements for Jagger and me to head back home. He’s missed too much in-person school as it is. I’ve put out some feeler applications for jobs. I need to get on that. I had one month’s rent saved, but—”
“Rent’s paid. I sent money for your mom to take care of that a while back. You don’t need to worry about money—”
He can’t say goodbye so he’s going to start with saying it’ll only be a week.
“I don’t need your money, Vince.” I scrub harder. I scrub spots that don’t need scrubbing. “I told you, I don’t need or expect anything from you.”
Then the week will turn into a month.
“Bristol.”
And the month will turn into excuses.
“We’ll head back home and—and—we just need to get back home. Get our lives back.”
Then the excuses will eventually stop.
“If that’s what you want.” His voice is low, questioning. “I can get my driver to take you to the airport when the jet returns.” When I don’t respond, can’t, he continues. “If I’m honest though, I’m not comfortable with you going back to your place yet. I’d much rather you two stay here where I know you’re safe and—”
And away from you.
The thought comes out of nowhere but hits me like a ton of bricks.
I don’t want his driver.
I don’t want him telling me where to go.
I don’t want him telling me what to do.
My hands start trembling, so I squeeze the sponge with ferocity to control it. “I have to return to my life sometime.”
Maybe that’s what he wants. For him to leave and for me to feel weird here so I go home on my own. Then he can return to an empty house and the strings can be cut with precision since we won’t be face-to-face. So he won’t have to see my face when he leaves this time.
“Shug.”
“I’m fine. This is fine,” I murmur, willing myself not to cry. Not to feel. Not to be anything other than the strong girl I was when I let him walk away the first time. Then the even stronger twenty-one-year-old, when I lied to his face and said I only wanted sex and just the one night. And finally, the woman from a few weeks ago who lied on her front porch when she told him she loved him, but it wasn’t enough.
Vince closes his arms around me from behind. My body tenses at the feel of him against me, at the comfort I’ve come to find in it, when he rests his chin on my shoulder. “Talk to me.”
This is how we are.
“There’s nothing to say.”
This is what we do.
“Look at me.” He tries to turn me around, but I just grip the counter.
But now there’s Jagger who will be heartbroken too.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “Have a good trip.” My voice breaks despite the feigned nonchalance in it.
“Dammit, Shug.” I can feel his jaw clench on my shoulder. “If this is going to work between us, you don’t get to shut down every time you get scared. I’m not allowed to, so neither are you.” This time when he tries to turn me, I let him. His eyes search mine with an honesty he’s been showing more and more and that I need to get used to accepting. “Talk to me. Why are you so upset?”
“If your trip turns into longer than a week. Say a month. Say however long . . . just know it’s okay. I understand. We gave it a good run.”
He uses his thumb to brush away the tear that slides down my cheek. “It won’t.”
“But if it does, just know it’s okay. Just know I love you. Just know Jagger will be loved.” Every part of me aches in fear that when he walks out the door, he won’t come back.
He’s done it before.
“I know you have nothing to go off but the past, but I’m not going anywhere.” He brushes a kiss to my lips. “You want me to fight for us? Then I expect the same of you.”
I nod but the tears keep coming. The fear still burns bright. “Sometimes it’s too hard to hope.”
“Then don’t hope. Know. Trust in me. Trust in us.”
He presses a searing kiss to my lips before leaning back. “The offer is there. You can go home and go back to your life like nothing has happened. Or you can trust in me and stay here. I’m leaving the ball one hundred percent in your court. If anyone’s going to walk away, it’s going to be you.”
Our eyes hold before he gives me a brusque kiss and then walks outside to say goodbye to Jagger. I hate that once again, I’m looking at his back, watching him walk away. It feels like déjà vu, except this time, there’s so much more on the line.
“You want me to fight for us? Then I expect the same of you. Trust in me. Trust in us.”
Then he climbs in the waiting car.
How do I trust in us when I’m not sure what us means?
Then he is on his way to the airport.
How do I trust in him when he’s never fought for us before?
And I’m left wondering if I’ve just said goodbye to him for good again.
How do I trust when I’ve barely survived every other goodbye?
