“When will you be back?” I ask.
“Honestly, I don’t know. As soon as I can. But I’ll be here for you. I am here for you. If you need me, call me. I’ll answer.”
“If you ever need me, all you have to do is call.”
My stomach flip-flops as the words he whispered to me all of those nights ago on the boat come ringing back. I squash down the shot of bile that threatens to launch up my throat.
“So, that’s the plan then?” I ask him, swallowing hard. “You just go on to Nashville and I just … call you when I need you?”
“No. No. Not at all. I’ll come back as soon as I can and as often as I can. You can come to Nashville too.”
I shoot him a look that calls him out on that. I’m not going to be able to go to Nashville until Dad … And he knows that.
A lump the size of Georgia lodges in my throat. When I look at him this time, it’s with a heavy stroke of fear.
My phone rings and interrupts my panic. I glance at the table and see my Dad’s name on the screen.
I pick it up, ignoring a look from Coy.
“Hey, Daddy. You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says. “Did you remember that I have to get that blood work repeated today?”
I sigh. “I forgot. Can we go this afternoon? It doesn’t matter, does it?”
“No. I just have to fast for the test. If we could go before it gets too late, I’d appreciate it. I’m hungry.” He chuckles. “I hate to be a pain, Bellamy. I can call a nurse to take me, if you’d rather.”
I blow out a heavy, tired breath.
Dad is hungry and he can’t eat until after his blood test. A test that he needs. And here I am, delaying the inevitable fact that Coy is going to choose to leave. He’s going to leave. And he’s going to do it with no real guarantee that he will come back.
Like last time.
I need to get myself together and prioritize what’s important in this moment.
“No. Absolutely not,” I say, fighting back the tears. How did I forget? “I’ll be there within the hour.”
“I’ll see you then, baby girl.”
“Bye, Dad.”
I hold my phone with both hands and feel the weight of everything pile on my shoulders.
“Is everything okay?” Coy asks.
I nod.
“What is it?” he asks.
I lift my head and look at him.
I know Coy loves me. I believe him when he says it. I feel it when he touches me and I can see it in his eyes. But, if what he tells me is true, he loved me the night on the boat. And look how that ended.
What is really different now except for the fact that our lives are even more complicated?
Was I crazy to think this could work out between us?
He’s going to bolt out of here today, and I have no idea when he’ll be back. He’s given me promises that he will and that means something, sure. But it leaves a wonky feeling in the pit of my stomach that maybe he’s saying those things to bide himself time because we haven’t made a plan. There are no plans.
Meanwhile, I’ll be here, dealing with my life and its messes, and, at the same time, checking my back for photographers at the hospital.
While he’s in Tennessee, hoping just figuring out his career … and not our relationship.
It’s too much. And it’ll be too much for Coy also. He doesn’t deserve to be weighed down with all of this either. Especially not with the months that I know are just ahead with Dad’s new medicine. Maybe he just realizes that too. Who am I to blame him?
My eyes well up with tears.
Maybe it already is getting to be too much.
Maybe that’s why he’s so quick to leave.
“What was that call about?”
“I have to take Dad for tests today.”
He nods, running his tongue around his mouth, obviously picking up on my trepidation. “I wish we had more time to talk this out. Or for me to take you and Joe—”
“Well, we don’t,” I say, getting to my feet. “We both need to get started on our days.”
He picks up on my tone. It’s borderline angry, but not at him—just at the world. It’s also sad. And frustrated. And if I had the luxury of time and space and selfishness, I’d take a hot shower and cry.
But I can’t do that because I don’t have those things.
“Bells …”
He reaches for me, but I don’t go to him. It kills me not to run into his arms. It causes me physical pain to keep from getting the much-needed—short-lived—comfort that I’ve found in him.
I love him. I love him so fucking much. But .. .what’s the point?
Hope got me into this mess and now logic has to get me out.
“Stop crying,” he tells me.
“I can’t just stop crying.”
He grits his teeth. “You told me you wouldn’t do this.”
“What are you talking about? What am I doing, Coy?”
“You’re pushing me away.”
“Well, you’re running away and I think you told me you wouldn’t do that too.”
He twists his neck back and forth. “I have to go to work. You know that. What do you want me to do?”
“That’s the problem. There’s nothing you can do but go to work.” I shrug helplessly because I’m not going to beg him to sit down and really hash this out with me. If he wanted to, he would. “I love you. I do. I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone. But we have to be real here.”
“I am being real.”
He invades my personal space and puts his arms around me, locking his hands at the small of my back. The contact causes a river of tears to stream down my face.
“Stop crying,” he tells me.
“I can’t just stop crying.”
“Then stop pushing me away and this can be different.”
I want to argue with him. But he’s right. I am pushing him away.
A part of it is from fear. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that to myself. But the bigger reason I’m putting a wedge between us and a shield over my heart is because I know it’s the right thing to do.
“The last few days have been wonderful,” I tell him, my voice thankfully staying even. “You have been amazing. But I remember now why I don’t let myself have that level of hope. Because it’s … unrealistic.”
“What’s unrealistic is you discounting us without giving us a chance.”
“I gave us a chance—more than once. And I thought maybe this time would be different. But … you didn’t even ask me to weigh in on it, Coy. You didn’t even include me in your choice. Do you even realize that?”
He slow blinks.
“You came in here and told me what was happening. And that’s fine,” I say. “But it tells me what this is going to be, and I’d like to think that I’d have some input about things.”
He stands in front of me. If I reached out, I could touch the side of his face. I could play with his hair or touch the lines in his stomach.
But that would make things worse.
“I’m sorry we waited so long to get on the same page. And I’m even sorrier that we fell off of it so quickly.”