A Risk Worth Taking (26 page)

Ford

“Nothing lasts forever.
NOTHING. Security in believing something does is only an illusion.” –Angeline
Kace

My boots
felt weighted with lead bricks. The leaves of trees lining the path were vivid
shades of orange and yellow. I kept my head down, refusing to acknowledge the
shift in the air. Under any other circumstances, I would’ve appreciated the
beauty of nature and how even in the midst of something dying, the
transformation could be miraculous. Today, nothing felt miraculous. It felt
final.

I
didn’t want to come, but I couldn’t bring myself not to show up. Summer’s text
had made it all too clear what the purpose of this visit would be. She’d asked
me to meet her at “our spot” after work today. She’d been distant for days now,
always brushing me off when I asked what was wrong. And she hadn’t ridden with
me. She’d come alone, which told me she very well planned to leave alone.

It
was a conversation that’d been building for five months, no matter how many
times we both agreed my leaving next week was for the best and pretended to
believe it. No matter how many times she turned away before she thought I saw
the tears brimming when someone mentioned Thanksgiving or beyond. No matter how
many times we skirted the edges of this topic, I knew it was coming. I couldn’t
fault her. In my weaker moments, I had to bite my tongue to keep from being the
one to bring it up. To keep from offering something I had no idea how to give.

I’d
been on the verge of offering to stay more times than I would ever admit. And
not once had she asked me to. Not once. Until today.

Seven
days until liftoff. The texts had started earlier this morning. I was shocked
she’d held out this long. So when they’d graduated from “I heart you” and winky
faces to “I think we should talk after work” and sad faces, I was pretty sure
what was coming.

And
although I dreaded it, I wouldn’t blow her off. No matter the outcome, I would
listen and hear her out. I respected her and what we had far too much not to.
But dammit, I wished I didn’t have to look her in the eye and break her heart.
Not yet.

I
still had seven days.

I
knew it was a selfish outlook. I knew I deserved to pay for thinking like that,
but it was all I had. I’d barely found the strength to hand in my two-week
notice to Dean. I didn’t have it in me to walk away from her sooner than that.
I wanted all of my time to count. Every second.

I
paused at the edge of the tree cover, taking a moment to study her. The curve
of her hip, the way she planted both feet solidly when she stood. The strands
of wavy, honey-brown hair caught by the small breeze that danced at the edges,
haloing her head. Her long, luscious legs, browned in a tan that remained from
all the time spent outside these past months. And the rigid set of her
shoulders as she stared—probably blankly—at the view of her entire world. It
seemed fitting that, at the moment, I was standing outside its borders.

I
hated breaking the silence, but I forced myself to take a loud enough step that
she heard me walk up. Even more, I hated the way her eyes clouded and then
cleared when she turned and saw me standing there.

“Hi,”
she said, a strained smile on her lips.

“Hi,”
I said, wrapping my arms around her and pressing kisses against her hair. “You
been waiting long?”

“Just
got here,” she said, her arms squeezing tight around my ribs.

The
wind was stronger here on the ledge. It picked strands of her hair up and made
them dance along my arm and chin, tickling where it touched. “It’s cool up
here,” I said as she finally pulled back to look up at me.

At
my words, the skin around her eyes tightened and I realized I’d just reminded
us both of the season—and what was coming. Damn. Nice one, Ford.

 She
slid her arms free and let them hang at her sides. The separation was subtle
but it spoke volumes. “I’ve never dreaded cool weather so much before,” she
admitted.

Her
eyes were already pleading with me, and I had to force myself not to look away
or just leave. I hated being the villain. “Me too,” I agreed.

“Really?”
She frowned and I knew what she was thinking. Leaving was a choice. If I didn’t
like it, I could choose different. She wanted me to choose her. But for me, it
wasn’t like that. Leaving was something I needed to do. I couldn’t explain it.
Not to her and sometimes, not to myself. Mostly, I had to leave so that I
didn’t stay.

If
she wondered at my silence, she didn’t press it.  “I know you’re wondering why
I called you up here today,” she said. I grunted an agreement. “You leave in a
week,” she said as if that explained it all. And it did.

“Yeah,”
I said quietly.

“And
I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“Me
too.”

Her
gaze sharpened, like she was searching way too deeply into my words.  It made
me uncomfortable and I took a step, needing to move under the weight of it all.

She
held my eyes a second longer and then dropped her head, shaking it in
frustration. “This is much harder than I thought,” she said.

It
hurt my chest to see the pain in her eyes. I reached out and took her hand,
pulling her close to me again. “Just say what you feel,” I whispered.

She
looked up at me through lowered lashes. “I feel like I’m losing you,” she
whispered back. “And I don’t want to.”

There
it was. The pain in my chest twisted, digging deeper until it was lodged so far
inside, there would be no removing it. “I don’t either,” I said.

She
bit her lip. She wanted to say it. I could see it written plainly on her face.
“But … it’s your choice. This is what you want.”

I
sighed. “I don’t want to lose you any more than you want to lose me.”

“Then
stay.” The fact that she’d said it aloud seemed to surprise her. I wondered if
she’d actually planned on saying it outright or just beat around the bush
hoping I’d say it for her. But it was too late to take it back. She forged on,
“I didn’t plan on saying that. But I’m just so angry.”

“At
me?”

“Some,”
she admitted. “Mostly, I’m angry at fate or destiny or whatever. You talk about
the universe sending us what we need and all of that but why would the universe
send me the very thing I’ve always needed and let me love it more fiercely than
I’ve ever loved and then rip it away?”

I
didn’t answer. For the second time today, she withdrew her arms and put
distance between us. I knew what she wanted me to say, but I couldn’t do it.
She was pushing me and I couldn’t help but feel defensive—and want to push
back.

“How
do you know this is what you’ve always needed? You don’t know what you want,
remember?” I asked.

I
knew I was pushing back in a direction she didn’t want me to go, but I couldn’t
help it. I was leaving. She was supposed to let me. It would be sad and epic
and heartbreaking but it was the right thing—or at least that’s what I told
myself, because the alternative scared the shit out of me.

“I
didn’t when I met you,” she agreed. “I had an idea and then the rug was ripped
out from under me. Being with you helped me see … I was wrong to want an idea
of a person. It’s you, Ford. There’s no mold to fill or list to check off. It’s
not about qualities in a personality or playing it safe. It’s just
you
.”

“It’s
about more than that,” I said stubbornly.

Her
eyes flashed with determination. She didn’t understand I was disagreeing with
her and she continued, her voice rising passionately, “You’re right. It’s about
being shaken—and letting go enough that when the pieces fall, you see the real
you in what’s left. You saw the real me before the dust settled.”

“Summer,
I—”

She
cut me off, determined to say it all, and I let her. “You make me so full of
whatever this is, I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t take in any more
because there’s no room for anything but you. It’s only you. And as unsettling
as it is, that’s not going to change.”

I
both hated and loved the sound of her words and the truth in her eyes as she
said them. It was everything I wanted to say and couldn’t. For just a moment,
her words and the magnitude of them had me imagining what it would be like to
throw it all away and do what I knew she was about to ask.

“I
know we agreed from the beginning how this would end. You never lied or gave me
false hope and I respect that. And there was a big part of me that didn’t want
to bring it up because I wanted staying to be something you chose, but love has
a way of eclipsing pride. Besides that, you’ve taught me to stand up and ask
for what I need. So, I’m asking now. Stay, Ford. Please?”

Ford

“Risk means
'shit happens' or 'good luck.’”

―Toba
Beta,
Betelgeuse Incident

I
turned the key in the ignition and was rewarded with a throaty growl as the
truck sprang to life. Darla whined at being revved so early in the morning. She
was testy in the cold, something I wasn’t looking forward to in Dakota. Okay,
one of a million things if I was being honest.

It
seemed honesty was catching around here. First, my parents. Although I wasn’t
convinced they weren’t full of shit. And then Summer. She’d asked me to stay.
To
stay.

My
eyes burned at the memory of her standing on that hillside, bathed in the
sunset, tears streaming down her face unchecked. She hadn’t even realized she
was crying until I’d reached out to wipe away a tear. But by then, it was too
late. She’d seen the answer in my expression and she wouldn’t have it. She’d
ripped free of my grasp and stormed off, walked all the way home while I drove
close behind in case she changed her mind about refusing the ride. She hadn’t.
It was the most painful—and most awkward—four miles of my life.

It
would only take two little words to end it. To transform the anguish to
joy—hers and mine.
I’ll stay.
If I’d just said those words, her tears
would’ve vanished. We could’ve ridden off in the sunset together. Or better
yet, sealed it by making love in the grass right there on the hill.

But
I couldn’t do it.

Or
I wouldn’t. I didn’t know which anymore.

I
shook my head and went inside for the last of my bags. Today was moving day. On
to the next adventure. The next step in the journey. Emptiness threatened to
overwhelm me at the thought of experiencing any of it without Summer beside me.
I shook it off and forced my feet up the stairs. I wanted this. I chose it,
dammit.

Casey
stood at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and eyeing me over the rim of his
mug.

“Stop
looking at me like that,” I said, slinging a green duffel over my shoulder.

“Like
what?” His eyes were wide with feigned innocence.

“Like
I just broke up with you.”

He
snorted. “Didn’t you?”

I
didn’t answer. He followed me out to the truck, and when I’d finished arranging
my bags, I gave him a handshake that turned to a quick one-armed hug. “Look out
for her,” I said.

“You
know I will. But the job is yours if you change your mind.”

“I
…” I couldn’t finish. There was nothing to say. I desperately wanted that job.
The thought of someone else looking out for her, being there for her, doing
anything
for her made my blood boil. But it wasn’t enough of a reason to stay. So far,
nothing was. I wondered if that said more about me than her. “I didn’t want it
to end this way, man.”

“You
should call her. Tell her that yourself.”

I
shook my head. “She said she didn’t want that. Said a clean break was best
after everything.”

“And
you’re going to listen to her? Man, you’re thicker than I thought.”

“I
couldn’t give her what she wanted. I have to respect her wishes, Case.”

“Yeah,
you do. Since you obviously don’t respect yourself.”

I
narrowed my eyes and opened my mouth, ready to demand what the hell he meant by
that. But then I thought better of it. Maybe I didn’t want to know. Maybe there
was too big a part of me that couldn’t handle the answer.

“I
gotta go,” I muttered.

I
waved one last time, climbed aboard Darla, and left Grayson County—and the girl
of my dreams—behind.