“How does that—”
“I know you.” Goddammit, it’d only been a few short weeks, but she did. “I saw you. With Shannon, you kept that alive for how long? You thought you were head over heels for her, and you held on to it. Way past the point where you should’ve. You said it yourself.”
“That was different.”
“How?” The word came out too loud, and her voice cracked, her eyes going hot.
And she’d cried in front of Adam once before. She’d cried for her father and for the childhood she hadn’t quite gotten to have because of him. No way she would hold it in now.
But no matter how badly her eyes burned, the tears didn’t come. Her voice didn’t shake as she wrapped her arms around herself and gazed up at him. “When you came back from seeing her, you said you’d realized you’d been wrong all along. You were settling. And I’m not going to let you settle for me.”
He worked his jaw, but no words came out.
“You would’ve done anything for her, too,” she said. “Don’t you see? You keep these things going for too long, and I can’t.” The pressure crushed in on her, grinding through her ribs. “I can’t have you do that to me.”
How much time could they waste like that? Her clinging to the only person who’d ever clawed his way past her defenses and him staying out of some sense of obligation. Because it was comfortable.
He’d accepted scraps of affection from his last girlfriend. What if scraps were all Jo had to offer him?
What if one day he realized he could’ve had a meal?
In the reflections of the moonlight off the water, Adam’s eyes gleamed, his skin pale. “Jo. Is there anything I could say to convince you? It’s not like that. Not this time, with you.”
And this was the sad truth. “I don’t think there is.”
Maybe, if they’d had more time. But not going off to different states, different parts of the country like this. They’d see each other a couple of times a year if they were lucky. Once they graduated, they might be able to figure something out, but that was a long, long ways away.
Except then his shoulders squared. “I don’t accept that.”
“Well, you don’t exactly have a choice about it.”
“I’ll convince you. Somehow. I just… I…”
Oh no. She could hear it on his tongue.
She put her hand over his lips. “Don’t say it.”
Didn’t he see? It would only make this worse.
Catching her wrist, he tugged her fingers from his mouth and clutched them tightly between his palms. “But it’s true.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It’s the only thing that matters.”
It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Not if the last twenty-one years of her life had been worth a damn.
As if registering the panic in her eyes, he loosened his hold, but he didn’t let go. “I… let me say this. I…” His posture deflated by a fraction, and he chose his words with what looked like care. Softened them. “I care about you. So much. I know the idea of being apart for a year is scary. I don’t have time to prove myself to you. But haven’t I earned something from you?”
After everything he’d done, he’d earned the world. But… “That’s not what this is about.”
“We can apply to the same graduate schools. If we were going to the same place, would you be willing to try?”
In another world, another life.
Then again, if there’d been a chance of something permanent from the beginning, would she even have risked a kiss?
“Did we ever have a chance?” he asked.
She looked down at their joined hands. “I don’t know.”
“Can you give me something? Anything?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
He ducked his head, evening out their heights. Crooked a finger under her chin to raise her gaze. “Do we need to role-play this out?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh God no.”
“Come on. I’ll help you start. Just repeat after me.”
She blinked the dampness from her eyes and waited. His smile cracked, and her throat went tight, her vision mistier.
“Adam,” he said, then lifted his brows in expectation.
“Adam.”
“I care about you.”
Fuck. The words clawed like fire from her lungs. “I… I care about you.” It was the understatement of the century, and forcing even that much out felt like she’d taken her skin off, and he could see straight inside. “More than I can tell you right now.”
The brittle edge to his smile melted away. “And maybe someday, if the stars align…”
This was serious, but a twisted huff of a laugh escaped her mouth. “We’re astronomers. We can’t say that shit.”
“Humor me.” He lifted one hand to touch her cheek. “It’s a metaphor.”
“I was never good at English class.”
“I know. That’s why I’m feeding you your lines.”
Her lip wobbled, and her throat bobbed. She squeezed the palm still gripping hers. “Maybe someday, if the stars align…” And then she went off script. “But right now, they’re not.”
“Right now, they’re not,” he repeated after her.
And then it was out there, in the universe and surrounding them. He pulled her into him, and she went as easy as could be, pressing her face to his chest and letting his arms surround her.
“Did we just break up?” she asked, suddenly cold.
“I don’t know. Did we?”
She lifted her head enough to look at him. “I don’t want to break up.”
“Then we didn’t.” It came out in a breath and sounded like relief.
“But we agreed we will? When this is over?”
When he nodded, she dropped her face into the warmth of his embrace. They stayed like that for what felt like hours. Water lapped at their feet, and around them the world turned. The constellations kept mapping out their constant sweeps across the sky.
He squeezed her tight and let her go, taking her hand. “Well, I say we make the most of what time we have left.”
They walked the beach until their feet grew tired, and then they lay down in the sand. With her head pillowed on his shoulder, she stared upward. The sky was dark and clear, the Milky Way a shimmering band shining down on them.
“I got you a present,” he said, his voice quiet in the night. He reached into his pocket. When he pulled it out, his hand was curled around something.
She frowned, but he pressed whatever it was into her palm. She lifted up a string of beads. In the darkness, it was hard to make out the carving in the center of it. But then she ran her thumb over the spiral of stars she knew by heart.
“Scorpius?”
His shrug jostled her. “Something for you to remember”—he hesitated, licking his lips—“the summer by.”
Something to remember him by.
“I love it.” It was the closest she could come to saying what she meant. She rolled over to lie on her stomach, bracing herself on her elbows. “I love it.”
“You can’t even see it.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She sat up the rest of the way, putting her back to him. “Put it on me?”
With steady hands and with a silence that bore down on them, he took the necklace from her and strung it across her collarbones. He fastened the clasp at the nape of her neck. Touching the pendant, she rubbed the polished wood between her forefinger and thumb.
She turned to him and kissed him, still holding on to this memento, this trinket.
As if there were any chance that she could ever forget.
It was late by the time they got back. The bar was closed, and the hallways were all empty. Exhausted from everything, Jo wanted nothing more than to wash off the sand and salt from her skin and fall into bed beside this man she’d already said goodbye to. To sleep safe inside his arms.
They turned down the corridor toward the block of rooms where they w
ere staying.
And sitting on the floor in front of Jo’s door was Kim. She was curled up in a ball, arms wrapped around her knees and face buried against them. Jo and Adam stopped short there in the middle of the hall.
Kim looked up, and her cheeks were red, her eyes wet. “I can go sleep on the floor in one of the other rooms if you want.” She pointed across the way at the room she and Jared had been planning to share. “But I can’t stay in there.”
Adam’s arm tightened around Jo’s waist. She glanced up at him.
And it wasn’t fair. After a night like tonight, she should get that small amount of comfort, that chance to be held while she slept, because she wouldn’t get to have it many more times. But it looked like Kim had had an even worse night than she had.
Releasing Jo, Adam stepped away.
“No,” Jo said, though it killed her. “It’s fine. Right?”
Adam echoed her. “Right.”
The expression on Kim’s face radiated gratitude. “Thank you.” She let herself into the empty room, while Jo turned to Adam.
Cupping her face softly, Adam pressed his lips to hers. As he pulled away, he trailed his fingers down her throat until they lingered on her necklace. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
Then they’d pack up, and then they’d leave. They’d finish the work they’d come to this island to do.
And it was decided. When it was over, she’d let him go.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The ferry ride back to the mainland was subdued, half of them hung over, Kim and Jared not speaking to each other. Adam unsure of what to even begin to say now that Jo had made her choice. The worst of it was that he could hardly blame her, considering how he’d acted those first few weeks. Considering all the lessons life had taught her long before they’d even met.
Home at the observatory, they spent their last few days packing up and finishing their work. When it came time for them to make their final presentations, Adam and Jo combined their two reports into one. It only made sense, given how related their topics were, and yet still. Staring at her in the light of the projector’s beam, he couldn’t help remembering the bristly girl who’d nearly refused to let him sit in on her telescope time at all. Now here she was, sharing the spotlight with him as they announced their results.
His smile ached, he was so damn proud.
That final night, after everything was settled, their offices shut down and their suitcases zipped, Adam sought her out. While the rest of the group tried valiantly to use up their remaining stores of alcohol, the two of them locked gazes, and he held out his hand. And she came.
He hadn’t told her his plan for the evening, but when he started down the road toward the observatory grounds, she followed without a word. Once they were through the gate, instead of heading to the main building, he took a left at the fork.
Jo tilted her head to the side. “Are you taking me where I think you are?”
“Are there really all that many options at this point?”
The only place this particular path went was the lookout point at the top of the hill. Past the visitor’s center, past all the displays meant for tourists. By itself, the place wasn’t all that remarkable, but…
“Wow.” Jo paused, catching her breath. From the edge of the lookout, near the railing, the whole of the campus was spread out before them. The offices and the cafeteria, the control room and the deck beyond it where he’d held her the night she’d first let him glimpse her past.
And farther in the distance, the telescope.
The dome suspended above the reflector dish was always lit up at night, viewable from just about anywhere, but from up here it seemed closer, the deep darkness of the valley below it starker.
Jo crossed forward to place her hands on the banister. “I knew it was beautiful at night, but…”
“I’ve never actually been up here after dark before. Always meant to come check it out. Figured this was our last chance.” It hurt to say, but there wasn’t any point denying it anymore.
Bracing himself, he came to stand behind her, cupping her bare arms with his palms. Ducking his head, he placed a kiss at the top of her spine, right below the clasp of the necklace he had bought her. The one he had yet to see her take off.
“Good choice,” she said, and she shivered.
“Jo—” His voice caught. He’d just said it himself. This was their last chance. His last chance, and he wasn’t going to waste it. If only he knew what to say, what to do…
“Shh.” She turned in his arms, one hand coming up between them, gentle fingers settling over his lips. Her eyes met his, and all the fight went out of him at once.
There was nothing left to say. Nothing left to do.
Except savor this.
Closing the distance was giving up and giving in. Her mouth tasted of warmth and rum and sex and love, and he could drown in it. He kissed her and kissed her, with the telescope in view, the night sky and the stars hanging over him like a future that had finally come for them.
When she slipped a hand under the hem of his shirt, the desperate ache within him surged.
He broke away from her long enough to retrieve the blanket he’d smuggled along for the hike. He spread it out across the ground right beside the railing. Right above the edge of the precipice. She didn’t ask him if he’d planned this or make any sort of implication. Just dropped to sit in the center of it, arms open.
He peeled off her clothes a piece at a time, pressing his lips to every inch of skin he exposed. He couldn’t think about it as the last time—not if he wanted to stay sane. The last time he touched her piercing, felt her warmth, kissed the point of her ankle or the crest of her hip. But the temptation was there. The last, the last, the last… The corners of his eyes went damp as he took her in.
Before he could get lost in it, she urged him over onto his back.
She stripped him with as much care as he’d taken baring her, and his heart echoed around inside his chest. She wasn’t indifferent to him. She wasn’t cruel.
So if she felt half of what he felt for her, how could she do this?
How could she still not trust him? How could she still not trust herself?
Choking down the rush of feeling that threatened to spring forth, he put his hands and lips to every piece of her he could. Loving. Memorizing.
When he was naked, flat on his back beneath the stars, she straddled his lap. Rolled protection onto him, and then in a single stroke, consumed him. He grasped for her, searching blindly for her skin in the inferno of her body, the heat of her touch. He pulled her close, and they gazed into each other’s eyes, kisses that weren’t kisses. Shared breaths.
She moved on him, and he held her tight. He bit his lip to contain the storm inside of him, the crash of climax and the words she’d asked him not to speak. Keeping him deep, she ground down hard, hips to hips.
“Adam—”
He kissed her for real this time, took her bottom lip between his. Orgasm rolled through her like a wave, warm pulsations that pulled him under with her, and he wanted to stop time, to freeze it. Wanted this to never, ever end.
He closed his eyes, lost to the power of his release.
After, she slumped over him. With everything he had, he held on.
The van pulled into the driveway at quarter to eight the next morning. Adam sat beside Jo at the curb, her suitcases stacked at their feet. Her flight was one of the first to leave. Adam had tried to worm his way onto that early shuttle ride out to San Juan just so he could spend the extra hour by her side, but between people and baggage, there wasn’t room.
Roberto got out of the van, giving Jo a wry look as he approached. The first time Adam had ever seen her, it had been right here, wrestling with her luggage after giving poor Roberto hell. She grinned at him sheepishly and allowed him to take one of her suitcases. Adam grabbed the other one and carted it to the van’s rear doors.
As they loaded up her things, the ot
hers started wandering out. There hadn’t been any concrete plans to meet and say goodbye, but apparently everybody’d had the same idea. They stood around in a silent circle as more suitcases got crammed in. Once everything had made it on board, Roberto climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving the nine of them staring at each other.
“So,” Adam said, looking around. “I guess this is it.” His heart pounded inside his chest.
“Guess so,” echoed Carol.
For a long moment, everyone was frozen.
Finally, Jared rolled his eyes. “Come on. We gonna hug this out or what?”
Adam huffed out a sigh of laughter. It was the exact sort of bullshit comment they needed. Intentionally facing away from Jo, he moved around the circle. A manly bro-hug for Jared and an awkward handshake for Tom. Polite hugs with most of the rest of the girls.
And then there was no more stalling. Nothing left to do but the one thing he desperately wanted not to.
The rest of their party receded into the background as Jo stepped into his space. “So.”
“So.”
She twisted her knuckles in front of her, teeth teasing at the ring of metal through her lip. She looked miserable, as bad as he felt. God, he wished things were different.
But they weren’t. And it was time.
He lifted a hand to curl his fingers around her neck and forced a lopsided smile. “No regrets?”
“Only one,” she said, and he believed—he had to believe—she meant the same thing he did.
He regretted they hadn’t gotten more.
He pulled her in closer and swallowed, blinking off the misting in his eyes. “I’m going to miss you so hard.”
Leaning up onto her tiptoes, she sealed their lips together. He kissed her back, as deeply as he dared.
And then she tore herself away. “Goodbye,” she said.
She was the last one into the van, and the engine fired up as soon as the door latched shut behind her. Adam stood there on the curb. He waved as they pulled onto the road. “Goodbye.”
And his heart quietly broke in two.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When The Stars Align Page 27
