by Erin Noelle
The last of my giggles tapers off as he turns the water off, and once again I lean back to rest on him. Almost as if he can hear my thoughts, we both grow quiet and the mood around us turns a bit somber as reality begins to slip through the small cracks of our bubble.
“I’m not ready to go home,” I admit softly, interlacing the fingers of my uninjured hand with his.
“Me neither.” He squeezes me with his arms and burrows his face in the side of my neck. “I don’t want this to end.”
An idea hits me. “Let’s stay another week,” I suggest hopefully. “Wherever you want to go. Hell, we can stay right here if you want. All on my dime this time. My next assignment isn’t until the first of August.”
He sighs and shakes his head, and my heart sinks. “I wish I could. The Monday after we get back, I start teaching a summer mini intensive. Eight hours a day, five days a week, for four weeks. Then I get about a week-and-a-half break before fall semester starts.”
“Boo, adulting sucks,” I mumble, doing my best to hide my disappointment.
“That it does.” He chuckles, kissing my shoulder. “That it does indeed.”
Silence surrounds us again, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I try not to think about what I’m going to miss about Tavian, but it’s impossible. I know I’m a better person for the time I’ve had with him, but that doesn’t ease the longing and sadness.
“Lyra, when we get home—” he begins, but I quickly cut him off.
Twisting around and sliding up on my knees, I reach out and press my fingers to his lips with a shake of my head. “No promises,” I implore, my eyes begging his not to make this harder. Him not keeping his word will hurt worse than anything. “No promises and no expectations. Whatever happens from here, happens because it’s supposed to. For the rest of tonight, it’s just you and me, and then we let Fate do her job.”
LYRA
07.17.15
It seems like only minutes after I lay my head down to go to sleep, sated and smiling while cozily snuggled in Tavian’s arms, the alarm is buzzing annoyingly, echoing off the stone wall. Groaning, he rolls over and grabs his phone from the nightstand, quickly silencing it.
“That thing can’t be right. We just fell asleep.” I burrow myself deeper into the comforter and pillows, refusing to open my eyes.
He returns to be my big spoon, his burly naked body engulfing mine, and my internal temperature spikes immediately. I’m going to miss sleeping next to him, waking up to his protective warmth and erection poking me in the back.
“Wish I could say it’s wrong. Nothing more I’d love to do than to stay right here in this bed with you all damn day, buttercup,” he rumbles as his morning scruff brushes over my exposed cheek and nestles in the crook of my neck, “but we gotta get up and pack and eat. Our flight is at 2:40 p.m., so we need to be on the road by 8:00 a.m. It’s a three-and-a-half hour drive to Venice, and we still have to turn in the rental car at the airport.”
Inching my body back until I’m flush against him, not even allowing air between us, I whimper when he thrusts his hips forward and rubs his rock-hard shaft up and down over the cleft of my ass. “And what time is it now?” I ask breathlessly.
“Just after six.” Still rocking against me, he catches my earlobe between his teeth and flicks his tongue over the sensitive flesh before releasing it and growling into my neck. “Enough time to make you come for me at least once more in this bed and another time or two in the shower.”
I squeeze my inner thighs together as a surge of moisture rushes to my burning core, his words igniting a fire with the cinders of lust still smoldering inside me from last night. Tavian’s fingers curl around my hips and I bow my back, desperate for more of him. I’m addicted to his touch, possessed by his soul.
“Shit, Lyra,” he groans as he glides his cock back and forth over my slick seam, teasing my entrance with the tip. “So fuckin’ wet for me. So fuckin’ beautiful for me.”
My heart takes flight, ricocheting around in my ribcage like a caged bird, bursting with emotion. I concentrate on memorizing every second of this moment. The exact way it feels when he slips inside, how my body greets him with a warm, tight hug, like I’m welcoming him home.
Once he’s buried inside me, we exhale together and lay completely still. His pulse throbs deep in my core and my heartbeat synchronizes with his, our connected bodies now acting as one fluid being.
“Tavian,” I moan when he begins to leisurely slide in and out of me, then turn my head so I can watch his face as he takes me slow and sweet.
Our eyes lock together, and instead of numbers in his baby blues, the bittersweet blend of rapture and sorrow stares back at me, mirroring my own feelings. This time is different. This time is goodbye.
I commit each touch of his hands, every kiss of his lips, and all his whispered words to memory, never wanting to forget a single breath of this. We may have only known each other for twelve days, but the connection we share is rare and extraordinary. I feel it in my bones. Tavian West will always own a piece of my heart.
Together, we find our release, and the raw, animalistic noise he makes when he empties himself inside me intensifies my own climax. My walls clamp down around his throbbing cock as he marks me as his, and we both cry out each other’s name. A final plea for time to stop and lock us in this moment.
With a heaving chest and sweat-sheened skin, I melt into the mattress next to Tavian, basking in my post-coital glow, pushing the sadness aside for the time being. After a minute or so of quiet recovery, he claims my mouth with his, the kiss a final punctuation mark on our time in this house.
Even though he carries me to the shower and licks me between my legs until I come apart on his face under the hot spray, as he promised, it’s that last time we’re together in bed—connected both physically and emotionally—that will forever be imprinted on my soul. It’s the closest I’ve felt to being loved since my parents died.
After we’re dressed and packed, Tavian cooks us one last big breakfast before we leave, knowing we probably won’t get a chance to eat again until early afternoon once we’re waiting at the gate in the airport. The aura surrounding us while we eat is subdued, and though we both fake cheerfulness, neither of us is fooled. My mood gradually declines with each passing minute that brings us closer to parting ways.
“Aren’t you going to eat your bacon?” Tavian asks, his concerned gaze scanning my face. “You can’t pass up that heaven on a plate I made just for you, buttercup. You’d hurt my feelings.”
He pretends to hold his aching heart, hands covering his chest as he playfully falls out of his chair. My forced tight-lip smile morphs into a genuine face-splitting one as he snags a piece of bacon from his plate and goofily walks on his knees over to my chair.
“It’s like déjà vu.” Holding the strip out, he taps it against my lips and grins. “Open up, buttercup.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, then open my mouth and accept his offering.
Yeah, don’t be silly, Lyra. It’s bacon, for chrissakes.
“There, that’s better.” He pushes up to his feet and leans over and kisses the tip of my nose as I chew. “I know this day is gonna suck later, but we don’t have to ruin the last sixteen hours we have together. Remember what you told me last night. Let Fate do her thing and we’ll end up where we’re supposed to be.”
I nod and swallow then finish off the rest of my breakfast, trying my best to believe Destiny’s predetermined path for me will have a happy ending. Since living over half my life as a recluse, I’m not sure I’ve done much to help guide her in that direction—humans rarely find joy and fulfillment in just their own company—but I’ve already vowed to myself to start working on that once I’m back home. I will train myself to look past the numbers when I meet people, not seeing them as a risk to bring sadness for whenever their time here ends, but an opportunity to grow happiness in the days they do have.
I just wish I had more days with Tavian now that we’ve fou
nd each other. But I guess that’s not written in the stars for us… at least not for now.
After he loads the car with our bags and locks up, we pull away and I take one last longing gaze at the quirky little house carved into the side of a mountain. The house where I lost my most treasured possession, but gained more in return than I could’ve ever imagined. The house where I fell in love with a man I’m not allowed to keep.
The drive to Venice goes by too fast, the three hours of listening to Johnny Cash and talking about what classes he’ll be taking and teaching in the fall all a blur. Before I know it, we’re turning the rental car in and passing through security screening at the airport. The fingers on my left hand are interlaced with his right, have been since we left our mountain hideaway, as I cling to his touch, soaking up every ounce of him I possibly can.
“We’ve got about an hour before we board. Let’s grab a bite to eat, and then we can stock up on some magazines and maybe get some cards for the flight,” Tavian suggests as we stroll through the long corridor near our gate.
“Yeah, sounds good,” I reply, searching the terminal for both restaurant options and the ladies’ room, “but first I need to go to the bathroom.”
He takes my backpack from me and hoists it onto his shoulders then waits as I scurry to the restroom to relieve my suddenly-demanding bladder. As I wash my hands, a woman next to me at the sink smiles and offers a friendly hello, and instead of ignoring her or mumbling a response while staring at the floor, I look straight at her and return the warm greeting. Self-satisfaction bubbles up in my chest as I stride out of the women’s room, my shoulders rolled back and my smile strong, but as I approach Tavian, whose back is turned to me, I hear him talking on the phone and my heart trips over the piles of hope I keep lying around.
“My flight lands at 7:05, so I should be home by eight or so, but Annie, don’t make any plans. We need to talk.’’
He pauses for a moment and I stay incredibly still and silent behind him, my thoughts whirring around my mind like debris in a tornado as I wonder what he wants to talk to her about. Is he really going to break things off like he alluded to? Was that what he was going to tell me last night? And if he is, I know I should feel some sort of guilt or responsibility for the hurt she will endure, but I don’t. And I’m not sure how that makes me feel about myself. Typically, I wouldn’t consider myself either selfish or selfless, falling somewhere in the middle range of the spectrum, but the intensity of my feelings for Tavian far outweighs anything else.
“Yeah, that’ll be good. I’m sure I’ll be exhausted and starving,” he says casually, then adds, “I love you, too. See you tonight.”
The last part stings a little bit. Okay, it stings way more than a little bit. It’s a swift kick to the gut that I don’t have time to recover from before he hangs up and spins around to discover me eavesdropping. I open my mouth to apologize, my face burning with embarrassment, but he beats me to it.
“I’m sorry, Lyra, I… I didn’t know you were there,” he stammers, one of the few times I haven’t seen him poised and in control.
“You don’t need to apologize. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you.” I wave him off and try to wrench my backpack off him with my one functioning hand, pretending this whole thing is no big deal. “She’s your girlfriend. Of course you love her.”
That last sentence leaves a sour taste in my mouth and I nearly choke on the L-word. I’m not stupid. Despite everything that’s happened between us these past couple of weeks—and I do believe he feels the same bond to me as I do to him—it doesn’t erase the years of history the two of them have shared and how important she’ll always be to him. No matter how much I want it to.
His fingers circle my wrist and he hauls me to his front, his blazing eyes demanding my full attention. “Listen to me, dammit,” he urges, his voice low and clipped. “I told you before, things with Annie are complicated. That didn’t magically change these last two weeks, but other things did. Meeting you and this time we’ve spent together has given me a clarity I’ve never had before.
“The way I feel about you, Lyra…” He trails off as he lowers his forehead to mine, his tone softening. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel like this about someone. You crashed into my life like an out-of-control locomotive, but instead of knocking me off track, you gave me the boost I needed to make the necessary changes in my life. It’s not going to be a quick fix, there are other people involved, but I know what needs to be done. And it’s all because of you.”
I lift up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his, responding through actions not words. There’s really not much else to say anyway. I’m the one who told him not to make any promises or to talk about the future when he tried. Everything he just said is so much more than I can ask for. His happiness is imperative to me, and knowing I helped him find that on a different level fills me with enough joy to skyrocket me to outer space.
Maybe even to Jupiter and back.
But nine hours later, when Tavian’s gently shaking my arm to wake me up from the nap I’m taking on his shoulder, alerting me of our final descent to the JFK airport, it’s anything but joy I’m experiencing. The plane makes a textbook landing and wastes no time taxiing directly to our gate, thus ending the flight. Ending our time together.
My palms are clammy and a lump that feels an awful lot like a Brillo pad is lodged in the bend of my throat. If I open my mouth to say anything, I’m afraid I may throw up, so I remain absolutely silent as I grab my backpack and follow Tavian down the narrow center aisle and into the skywalk connector.
Dread weighs heavy in each of my sluggish steps as we make our way through customs and international baggage claim then to the gate where he needs to catch his final thirty-minute flight home to Philadelphia. The boarding process has already begun by the time we get there, so that leaves no time for a lengthy goodbye. I haven’t even thought to ask him to exchange phone numbers or email addresses, not realizing I’ll need to send him his photos once I edit them.
You can do this, Lyra. No need to get sappy. Show him you’re a strong and independent woman, not a needy, dramatic nag.
We face each other and my breath hitches as my eyes fill with tears, the pep talk I just gave myself already forgotten. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he flattens me against his chest and buries his face in the side of my neck while a stream of wetness trickles down my cheeks and leaves dark splotches on his T-shirt. The Pluto one I picked out.
“I wrote you a little note while you were asleep and stuffed it inside your backpack,” he says, leaning back slightly and tucking a stray hair behind my ear. “You can read it when you get home, or whenever you want. It’s got all my contact info on it, too, so I expect to hear from you soon, okay?”
I nod and smile up at him through the sniffles, swiping away the rapidly falling tears with the back of my hand. “Okay, I promise.”
“Good.” He kisses me hard and long, our tongues dancing a farewell waltz. “Don’t forget me when you become a big and famous photographer, Lyra Jennings from Brooklyn.”
“The statistics of that happening are impossible, Tavian West from Philadelphia.” I laugh, but it sounds more like a hiccup mixed with the sobs. “You’re at the top of my official list of favorite people.”
They make the final boarding call for his flight and he grudgingly turns to leave, neither of us wanting to say the word goodbye. He looks back over his shoulder and grins, treating me to one last shot of that damn chin dimple, before disappearing into the tunnel.
I stand here staring for a minute or two at the empty space where he just was, hoping that’s not the last time I’ll see the man who owns my heart. Unfortunately, we’re working against one thing I can do nothing to stop—time.
Nine months, six days, and counting down.
TAVIAN
07.17.15
Nine months, six days, and counting down.
The timer starts ticking the moment I step onto the plane for my short flight home
, the bomb in my chest officially triggered for detonation on April 23, 2016. I’ve seen the six-digit numbers in people’s eyes ever since I can remember, and not once have they been wrong. Not when my dad and brothers were blown up in the plant explosion, which is the day I finally realized what the numbers meant. Not for my grandma, who lost her battle with cancer a year to the day after she buried her son and two of her grandsons. Not for my best friend Bryan, who died from an undetected blood clot in his brain while he slept during our junior year of college, despite my attempt to keep him in a safe bubble throughout the entire day. And not for every other person I’ve met in my life, including all of those who were killed during the attack at the Pamplona airport.
Lyra’s won’t be wrong either.
For the first time since I’ve come to accept this unexplainable power I have as a blessing and reminder to make the most of each day instead of a curse, I wish more than anything I was just normal, living life blindly like every other human walking the planet. It’s a mindset that took years for me to develop thanks to the help of Annie, the only person who believes me about the numbers, and in less than two weeks, Lyra Jennings has made me question all of it. Now, I’m racing time, and even though I know I won’t be a winner at the finish line—at her finish line—I want to make the journey there the best it can fucking be. For her. For me. For us.
It’s just not that simple though. Life never is.
How am I supposed to explain to my mom, who tragically lost her husband and two of her three kids in one devastating phone call, that I’m going to end things with Annie, the girl who she treats as a daughter and expects to mother her grandchildren, to be with someone who I know will die in less than a year? What kind of son will I be when I rip away the one thing she’s been praying for—me to start a family, knowing that Annie will live to be well in her eighties and can provide this, while Lyra won’t ever see the age of twenty-five? Why would I subject her to even more heartache than she’s already endured by introducing her to the woman I’m madly in love with, only to make her suffer through the loss of yet another person, taken from us much too early?
