There were so many things wrong with those sentences.
I leaned down and rested my forehead on her temple, my mind flashing back to the first time she’d slept over my house. I’d been dying to touch her, but unable to, and she’d been feeling the same way. I’d felt so desolate that I’d never get to have her, and now I had her, but I was walking away.
I breathed in her scent and kissed her on the tiny freckle under her eye, high on her cheekbone. “Ginger, I have to go.”
“Hmm,” she mumbled, rolling her head toward me but not opening her eyes.
She wasn’t awake.
Part of me wanted to leave her sleeping peacefully. She was going to cry when we said goodbye, and all I wanted was to make her happy. So why should I wake her up to let her cry? But leaving without that goodbye didn’t feel right either.
“Carrie,” I whispered, kissing her lips gently. “I have to go.”
“Go?” Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at me for a fraction of a second before it faded away. That must have been when she remembered where I was going. “Oh. Oh God. Okay.”
Her arms snaked around my neck and she held on so tightly what I could barely talk, let alone breathe, but I didn’t protest. Why would I?
I needed her love more than I needed to breathe.
I hugged her close, burying my face in her neck. Walking away might be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but it would be worth it in the end. And if I kept telling myself that, then it would be true…ish.
I kissed the side of her neck, wanting to apologize for leaving even though I was doing what I had to do, and it would be okay. We’d be okay. “It’ll be all right.”
She nodded frantically, but didn’t release her death grip on me. “I know. I just need a second.”
I kissed the side of her neck again, since that’s all I could reach with her stranglehold on me. “This isn’t a goodbye. It’s a see you later.”
She made a small sound. “That’s true. It’s only, like, a month.”
Actually, it was two. But I didn’t feel the need to point that out. “Right.” I pulled back to look at her, and she let me. I smiled down at her, trying to show her how calm I was about this whole situation so she’d feel at ease. “It’ll pass by fast with Thanksgiving and Christmas…then before you know it, I’ll be back here bossing you around, annoying you, and making you roll your eyes.”
She let out a small laugh and her dimple popped out. Fuck, I loved that dimple. “You don’t annoy me…too much.”
“There you go sugarcoating things for me.”
She kissed my jaw. “I don’t sugarcoat. I tell it like it is.”
“Oh, do you really now?” I turned my head and kissed her, keeping it sweet and gentle since my ride would be calling any minute to let me know he was here.
She smiled up at me. “I know this is going to work out in the end, and so do you. We’ll skip the rest of the tears. Deal?”
I nodded slowly, smiling even though it f**king hurt. “Deal.”
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I picked it up. “That’s my ride. I’ve gotta leave now.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath and kissed me. “I’ll walk you out.”
I pushed off the bed and slid my phone into my pocket. “If you want to.”
“I do,” she said, sitting up and sliding her legs over the side of the bed. She wore a pair of short shorts and one of my tank tops. She slid her feet into flip-flops, yawned, and reached out for my hand. She clung to me tightly, and I had a feeling I did the same thing to her. “Let’s do this.”
We walked to the door in silence, her hand entwined with mine. As I opened the door, I had to let go so I could wheel out my luggage. She picked up my laptop bag and slung it over her shoulder, and I let her because I could tell she wanted to help.
And if that’s what it took to make her feel better, then so be it.
Carrie
I wanted to punch myself in the face right now. Anything to keep the tears at bay. I’d lectured myself so many times last night not to cry when he left, but it was getting harder and harder with each step we took toward him leaving. He didn’t need to see me panicking and blubbering as he walked away.
He needed to see me standing there—strong and steady and sure. When he left, I could break down, but not a second before.
I straightened my shoulders and thought of anything I could think of besides the fact that my heart was being ripped out of my chest. My upcoming flight home. The lasagna last night. The way he’d held me all night long as if he didn’t want to let go…
No. I shouldn’t think of that.
Bad idea.
I followed him out the door, staring straight ahead and not meeting him in the eye. If I looked at him and he looked sad, I’d lose it. A black government-looking vehicle sat by the curb, right behind my car, its hazard lights flashing. That must be the car that would take him away to…wherever he was going.
I wasn’t allowed to know. Stupid, stupid rules.
As we climbed down the stairs, each step felt heavier. Longer. Because each step we took would take us to that car that would spirit Finn away. I hated that freaking car with a passion. It represented everything I couldn’t deal with right now.
We reached the bottom of the stairs and Finn set his suitcase on its wheels, then reached for my hand. I clung to it, knowing it was the last time I’d be able to do so until next year. He was my person. My rock.
What was I going to do without him here?
“You hanging in there, Ginger?” he asked, watching me with a furrowed brow. “If you want to go back up, it might be easier. Saying goodbye is never easy.”
“It’s not goodbye,” I reminded him, smiling through the pain. “It’s see ya later.”
“Right,” he said, his voice coming out rough. Oh God, if he cracked, I’d freaking lose it. Like, the nuclear warfare level of losing it. “I knew that.”
We stopped at the side of the car and the trunk popped open. Finn wheeled his suitcase to the back and put it inside, then held his hand out for his laptop bag. I handed it off to him, our fingers brushing. He set the bag inside and shut the trunk with a clunk.
The sun was just starting to lighten the sky with tiny little tendrils of grayish-pink, and the birds around us were silent—still sleeping in their nests. It was just us and the guy in the car. And we…
We were out of time.