40-Love (There's Something About Marysburg Book 2)

by Olivia Dade

  She accepted the silent offer. Taking his hand, she let him lead her to the couch.

  “Tess…” He settled them next to one another, hip to hip, as always. “I wish you would trust me.”

  His voice was low. Weary in a way that made her chest ache.

  She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I do. I do trust you.”

  And she did, more than she’d trusted any man in years and years. She trusted that he cared about her. That he wished her happiness. That he would tell her the truth. That he’d found her sexy and interesting in this brief span of time, here on the island.

  She just didn’t trust that they had a future off the island.

  His lips compressed, but he didn’t argue with her, and he didn’t shake off her touch. “The reason I’ve looked so uncomfortable is because I need to talk to you about something.”

  “All right.” She slid her hand down until she was surrounding his with both of hers, a mute apology. But she was a grown woman, and she needed to use her words too. “I’m sorry, Lucas. I just…”

  “You just what?” He didn’t sound impatient or angry anymore, simply tired.

  Her guilt, her anxiety over what he might actually want to say, felt like a literal, physical weight on her aching, slumped shoulders. “I just got worried. I’m leaving so soon, and I don’t know what happens then.”

  At that, he straightened, his thigh suddenly tense and taut beside hers. “Conveniently enough, that’s precisely what I want to talk about.”

  She turned to him, mouth firmly shut this time, and waited to hear what he had to say.

  “My contract expires at the end of the year, like I told you. For a long time, I wasn’t sure whether I’d renew it or not.”

  Was he considering another type of work? Coaching? Commentary?

  If so, he’d be busier and more distant than ever, but at least he’d be taking advantage of his talents. Stretching himself and discovering what he could do without a racket in his hands.

  It would hurt, of course, to have him so far out of her reach. But imagining him buried on this island forever, hiding from his past, hurt much, much more.

  He paused. In this light, the circles beneath his eyes were dark as bruises, and no wonder. In lieu of restless sleep, he and Tess had made love throughout most of the previous night. She’d credited that to her own desperation, her own need for him, but maybe she hadn’t been the only one worried, the only one unsure of the future.

  Another deep breath, and then he continued. “I’ve decided I won’t extend the contract. Over the holidays, I’ll visit my family in Sweden for a couple of weeks. Then I’ll move to Marysburg.”

  The words were a punch to her diaphragm, stealing her breath.

  She could only gape at him, gasping, unable to parse his intentions or her own emotions.

  “I would get my own place at first, but we could eventually move in together.” His palm was uncharacteristically damp against her own, his fingers squeezing a bit too tightly. “Either at your house or a new place we bought jointly.”

  She licked her lips, the buzzing in her ears rendering his voice nearly inaudible.

  Then he stopped talking, and all she could hear was static and her heart thudding and thudding again. In panic, in joy, in disbelief, in anger that he was going to make her say it.

  He was really, really going to make her be the one to say all of it.

  “Tess—” He ducked his head to catch her eye, the movement jerky. “Say something.”

  Well, he’d asked, and she would.

  “You don’t have family in Marysburg. You don’t have a job in Marysburg.” She formed each word carefully, stripping them of emotion. “It’s a medium-sized town comprised of a college, a living history museum, high-end outlet stores, and retirees. Maybe people play tennis there, but it’s certainly not a hub for the sport.”

  He immediately countered, “The college has a tennis center, and a Challenger-level tournament is held there every year. When I was recovering from one of my surgeries, I actually played at that tournament.”

  He’d put that much thought into his decision, at least.

  But not enough. Not nearly enough.

  “Is the tennis center looking to hire, either now or in the next few months?” Her school-administrator tone had made an appearance, fair but no-nonsense. Inexorable. “I know you have savings from your time as a pro, but would the salary they’d offer be enough for you?”

  He leaned back a little, pale beneath his tan.

  “I…” His throat bobbed. “I haven’t had time to check. But even if they weren’t hiring, didn’t you tell me I could do anything I wanted? Including non-tennis-related work?”

  “Of course you could. You’re smart, hardworking, and a great communicator.” Her hand was limp in his, shaking, but she maintained steady eye contact. “So if things didn’t work out with the tennis center, what other job opportunities would you pursue?”

  He waved his free arm, the gesture near-violent. “I’d have between now and December to consider that.”

  But he knew that was an insufficient answer. They both did.

  She hadn’t even cut to the frantically beating, pained heart of the matter. But he was forcing her to do it, and she wouldn’t shirk the responsibility.

  “Lucas, you’ve known me less than two weeks. For that entire time, I’ve been on vacation.” She pressed her lips together to stop their trembling. “The person I am when I’m working, the life I live during the school year…you won’t want that. You won’t want me.”

  When he began to protest, she spoke over him. “I’m not great at nurturing intimate relationships at the best of times. I don’t know whether ours can survive long-distance for half a year, and I don’t know if it can survive your arrival in a town you chose solely because of me. You’d be friendless and potentially jobless.”

  His face sagged, and he wasn’t looking at her anymore. Instead, he was gazing at the muted television as his friend served into the net, then did it again. Nick had double-faulted. In doing so, he’d lost the game, the set. Lost the match, full stop.

  “My friendships don’t vanish simply because we don’t live in the same place.” There was a thread of defiance in Lucas’s voice, despite everything. “Look at you and Belle.”

  “Fair point.” She inclined her head. “The rest of mine still stand. I appreciate your offer, more than y-you—”

  Her breath hitched, and she had to cut herself off and gather her composure.

  “I care about you, Lucas.” She strengthened her grip on his hand. Clutched it close for what was probably the last time, because she didn’t think they could come back from this conversation. “But what you’re proposing isn’t practical, and I don’t think you really know what you want. Not right now. Not yet. I’m not even certain a casual long-distance relationship makes sense, given the situation.”

  As she spoke, his head lifted, and he stared at her, brow creased in concentration.

  “Practical,” he murmured to himself.

  Then he gave a little nod, as if in sudden understanding. His mouth remained set and grim. But when his back straightened and he slid his hand from between hers, he no longer seemed lost. No longer seemed damnably young and unsettled and rudderless.

  “Okay, Tess. Okay.” His voice had turned firm again, conviction in every syllable. “I hear what you’re saying. I also hear what you’re not saying.”

  This conversation was shredding her. Her joints ached as if she had the flu, and her skull was pounding in rhythm with her overworked heart. But he deserved his say, and she couldn’t stand to walk away, both literally and figuratively.

  “Tell me,” she invited.

  So he did.

  The starbursts of lines at the corners of Tess’s eyes had never been deeper, and she was holding herself like a woman in pain. Stillness punctuated by ginger movements, agony scored between drawn brows and sketched in brackets around her mouth.

  Once he’d beaten
back his instinctive defensiveness, hurt, and anger, he’d recognized that stance, that expression. After all, he’d seen it in the mirror countless times. He’d seen it from across the net when an opponent was playing through injury.

  Lucas couldn’t find any indication she’d physically damaged herself between dinner and now, which told him everything. Or if not everything, enough.

  Despite the affectless, damnable logic of her words, he saw it now. He saw her.

  Lucas held up one finger. “You’re not saying you don’t want me.”

  She licked her lips, a nervous gesture, and it was all the answer he needed.

  A second finger. “You’re not saying you don’t want a future with me.”

  Still no argument. No denial. No leavening of the weight slumping her shoulders and dragging her gaze to the floor.

  A third finger, and he held his breath for this one. “You’re not saying you don’t love me.”

  At that, her eyes flew to his, stricken and damp. But she still said nothing. Not one word. With her silence, the tightness in his chest loosened, if only slightly.

  Love couldn’t solve everything, but without love, there was nothing to solve.

  The fourth and final finger. “And you’re not saying you think you’ll grow tired of me or consider me a burden during the school year. You’re not saying you think you’ll stop loving or wanting me if we live in the same place.”

  Her lips, which she’d bitten raw at some point today, opened. Closed again.

  He leaned in close, holding her gaze. Refusing to let her hide. “In theory, then, all your objections, all those practical concerns—and they’re valid, don’t misunderstand me, and I should have prepared to address them before talking to you tonight—are about me. My needs. My happiness. My future.” With a quick glance downward, he confirmed what he’d seen in his peripheral vision. Her fingers, wrung bone-white. Still, he didn’t relent. “But I need you to explain something to me, älskling.”

  She waited wordlessly.

  “When exactly did you become responsible for all those things?” He tilted his head in mock inquiry. “At what point did I stop being the expert on my own wants and needs and dreams for the future? That’s condescending as hell, Tess, and I expected better from you.”

  At that, she flinched. “I didn’t mean to discount—”

  “You told me I wouldn’t want the life you lead during the school year, and I wouldn’t want you outside of this island.” He raised his brows. “As you rightly pointed out, you met me less than two weeks ago. So how can you possibly know that? How can you possibly claim to know better than I do how I’d feel?”

  Her mouth worked, her eyes shining with tears, but he made himself finish. Stopped himself from reaching for her and cutting short an argument they needed to have, however painful it was for both of them.

  He spoke slowly. Clearly. “Even if I’m wrong and you’re right, and I did regret the move, the decision would be mine to make and mine to regret. You’re older than me, but you’re not my mother, and you’re not my assistant principal.”

  “But it would be mine to regret too!” She jumped to her feet, her voice near a shout. “How can you—”

  Her rational façade had shattered, and it hurt to watch. Her pain nauseated him, even though he’d deliberately provoked her. Deliberately swung at her protective veneer in hopes of fissuring it and getting at the truth.

  Her tears spilled over then, trailing down her blotchy cheeks, and he silently handed her a tissue. “I-if you moved to Marysburg, and we were together for months, and I lived with you, and you decided you didn’t want me—”

  She sobbed, bent over at the waist from the force of her pain, the sound from her throat rough and loud and heartrending.

  He wasn’t done, but he also couldn’t stand to watch from a distance any longer.

  In two steps, he was at her side, and within a breath he was cradling her in his arms, letting her hide her face against his chest.

  He spoke into her hair. “That brings us to the central issue, I think.”

  Her shoulders were shaking, and he rubbed her back soothingly.

  “Earlier tonight, you said you trusted me. I believe you, Tess. You trust me.” He kissed the crown of her head, resting his cheek there. “I don’t think you trust yourself.”

  Her arms were wound so tightly around his waist, he could barely breathe. Or maybe that was his own emotion, his own grief and anxiety.

  “All that pragmatism, älskling. All that rational doubt, covering all that fear.” She made a wounded sound, thin and shaken, and his own sight blurred. “You’re enough for me, Tess. You’re worth a risk. But I can’t convince you of that if you won’t let me.”

  His t-shirt was wet over his chest now, as if his heart were bleeding.

  “Shhhh.” He stroked her hair, resting a supportive hand on her neck as she slowly calmed. “I’m done now. I’m done. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

  The exercise, one he’d practiced using biofeedback and deployed during fraught matches, helped both of them.

  Eventually, she spoke against his chest, her voice small and choked. “That’d be easier if I could actually breathe through my nose.”

  Leaning to his side, he snagged another tissue and handed it to her. The loud honking sound that followed made him smile, if only for a moment.

  “Did you want to say anything?” he asked. “Or are you done too?”

  More honking. A long pause. “I’m done. For now.”

  “We both need some time to think.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “Is that fair to say?”

  When she raised her head from his chest, her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, her nostrils damp. But her nod was firm.

  He wished the next bit weren’t necessary. “So let’s give ourselves a night apart and meet again tomorrow.”

  Her eyes grew wet again, and he knew why. They had so few hours left, too few to spend them on anything unnecessary.

  But this was necessary, and they both understood as much.

  “Okay.” She was hoarse but calm again. “We’ll talk tomorrow night?”

  Her last night on the island. Maybe their last night together.

  Minutes ago, she’d said even a casual long-distance relationship might not make sense, which terrified the fuck out of him.

  “Yes. Definitely.” This wasn’t goodbye, he reminded himself. Not even close, if he had anything to say about it. “I’ll text you tomorrow about when and where.”

  With her first step backward, he forced himself to let her go. To trust her, trust them, and have faith she wouldn’t hide herself away until her departure. Or, worse, follow her friend’s example and flee immediately.

  She gathered her belongings awkwardly and tried to smile as she offered him one last hug, fierce but brief. Then she left without another word, the door clicking quietly shut behind her.

  He looked up at the blank white ceiling, blinking hard.

  Foolishly, he’d forgotten one key detail. While his willingness to end a point, to be aggressive and take a risk on the court, had earned him a major, it had also cost him countless other matches, ones he should have won.

  Commentators had bemoaned his joints of glass, of course, but they’d also repeatedly pointed to one other flaw in his game, one more area for growth: rally tolerance. The willingness to wait until the right moment to strike, not just the moment his patience ran out. The ability to stay collected, keep working a point, and put himself in the best possible position for victory before he hit that drop shot or sent a scorching backhand down the line.

  It would come with more experience, they’d said. With time.

  But he’d run out of time. Just as he was running out of time now.

  He had work to do before he saw Tess again, and that was fine by him.

  Those commentators might have lamented his fragile joints and his lackluster rally tolerance, but they’d never criticized his capacity for hard wo
rk or his will to battle.

  He still had both.

  Tess had helped him see that. Helped him see himself again.

  No, he wasn’t letting her go. Not without the fight of his life.

  Twenty-Six

  For a while, Tess simply sat and stared into darkness, hugging a pillow to her chest.

  The hotel room’s armchair looked more comfortable than it was. The seat hardly gave an inch beneath her, and the fabric was stiff. Good for durability, no doubt, but not comfort.

  Right now, she needed comfort. God, did she need it.

  One way or another, she was leaving this island, leaving Lucas, in a day and a half, which was distressing enough on its own. Even worse: When she considered the future beyond that, she drew a complete, terrifying blank. At least when it came to her relationship with him.

  After his jaw-dropping offer, after their subsequent argument, she had no idea what to think anymore, no idea what to believe. About him, herself, or what they both wanted and needed. What they both feared.

  Or maybe that was wrong, because she did know two things: He wanted her in his life, and he hadn’t feared a future with her in it. Not the way she feared a future with him.

  Then again, he’d never had a long-term romantic relationship. He wasn’t dragging his intimate history behind him like a set of chains, ghosts rattling unseen in the darkness.

  Usually, when those ghosts clanked and moaned, she ignored them. Pretended not to hear them until they disappeared, and she could claim they didn’t exist at all, or if they did, they didn’t matter, didn’t affect her in any meaningful way, certainly didn’t circumscribe how she lived and loved.

  Lucas had forced her to acknowledge them tonight.

  Maybe it was time to look those wraiths in the eye, so she could understand why they’d arrived and what they demanded from her. She’d learned to live with them, even while denying their presence, but maybe—

  Maybe it was time for an exorcism.