Fuck, I should have told her everything. Why didn’t I tell her everything? I had no idea how to navigate any of this. Lola, my tour, my fame. All of it felt like some giant snowball, gathering momentum and destroying my life on its way down.
“You know, maybe she’s doing you both a favor,” Ernie said.
I took my forehead from my hands and glared at him.
He swayed his whiskey at me. “How fair was any of this gonna be for her anyway? Think about it. She stays behind and she’s alone for fourteen months while you travel the world. Or she goes on the road with you and she doesn’t see her friends or family the whole time, doesn’t sleep in the same bed for more than three nights in a row. She can’t work, can’t even fucking unpack. Either way, she’s doing nothing but living for you and you’re living for your career. You really want that for her?” He took a swallow of his drink, the ice clinking in the glass. “You’re getting famous, and what is she getting? It’s a little selfish.”
I looked away from him.
I was supposed to marry this woman. I’d known it the moment I thought I might lose her. She was it for me. The thought of being without her was as unacceptable to me as never seeing daylight again, never picking up another guitar.
If I’d fucked this up for good, I would suffer for it for the rest of my life. I’d never get over it. I needed to fix this and then put a ring on her hand and let every man who looked at her know there was already somebody hopelessly in love with her.
And they did look at her. I was going to need a very big ring.
I dragged my hands into my hair and squeezed. “Fucking Lola. I hate her.”
“I gotta tell you, none of this Lola shit sits right with me. My Spidey senses are tingling.” He tapped a finger on his tumbler. “And you’re sure you didn’t give her the gate code?”
“I didn’t give it to her,” I mumbled.
He squinted out at the fireplace like he was thinking.
Fuck this. I got up. “I’m going over to Sloan’s. I can’t sit here and do nothing.”
I’d given her space. It had been two fucking days. If she was going to break up with me, I’d rather she swing the ax now instead of leaving me kneeling with my head on the block. Not knowing was killing me. I couldn’t do this anymore.
The drive to her house felt like I was delivering myself to my own execution. I sat in her driveway rallying my courage to even get out and try my luck at getting in the door.
It was midnight. The house was dark.
I had my key, but Sloan always put the chain on. I’d probably have to ring the doorbell and wake her up. And would she even let me in? Or answer it after she looked through the peephole?
I had to be braced for the very real possibility she would break up with me tonight. That I’d had all I was going to get. I imagined her asking me to leave, taking my key. Making me empty my drawer and then never seeing her again.
My heart would break. It would fucking shatter.
The floodlights came on when I got to the porch. I put my key in the lock and turned it under the judgmental glare. I pushed the door open an inch, then another, and the moment when the chain would have gone taut came and went and Tucker spilled out and jumped on my legs.
She didn’t put the chain on.
It was the first ray of hope I’d had in days. I stood with my forehead to the open door and my hand on the knob for a solid minute.
She didn’t lock me out.
I prayed this meant something. That it wasn’t just some oversight. And I hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time I ever spoke to the woman I loved.
Chapter 30
Sloan
♪ Holocene | Bon Iver
The dip of the bed jostled me from my sleep. Somewhere in my misery I’d drifted off. Familiar hands wrapped themselves around my waist from behind and pulled me in.
Jason…
The scratch of his beard brushed the side of my neck and then in a husky voice, “I’m sorry.”
None of it mattered suddenly. None of it. The change in my brain was so fast it gave me whiplash. All my plans disintegrated. My mind flipped in a single heartbeat. I rolled over in the circle of his arms and kissed him. Even if there hadn’t been an apology, I’d have kissed him. He was forgiven, and I immediately became whole again.
He held my cheeks in his warm hands. “Sloan, I’m so sorry. I should have told you everything. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“I’m sorry too,” I whispered. “I missed you so much. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have trusted you, I just got so in my head…”
“It was my fault,” he said. “I was just afraid you’d think less of me or wouldn’t be able to handle it, and I thought I was protecting you. It was stupid.”
He put his forehead to mine. “You didn’t put the chain on,” he whispered.
I shook my head. No, I hadn’t put the chain on. I couldn’t speak to him, but I couldn’t lock him out, even though I didn’t think he would come home. Not after the way I made him leave.
But Jason never did have self-preservation instincts when it came to me, did he?
He brushed the hair off my forehead in the dimness. “Don’t ever take yourself from me again. Promise me. Please.”
His beautiful deep voice sounded like suffering. The room was dim. The only light came from the glow of my alarm clock on my nightstand. But I could see the dark circles under his lids and the hollow look in his eyes and my heart broke a thousand times in a single beat and I knew instantly that I would never have been able to break up with him when he left for his tour. Never. His plane would have still been sitting on the tarmac and I’d have been calling him, begging him to take me back. Fourteen months of being separated was nothing compared to nothing at all.
“Jason, I don’t want to break up when you go on tour. I can’t.”
“I love you.”
The words sucked the air right out of my lungs and I blinked into the darkness.
“I love you, Sloan.”
“I love you too,” I breathed.
He let out a noise that sounded like a mixture of joy and relief, and I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his beard.
He held me so tightly I couldn’t breathe. “Sloan, come with me on my tour. Please.”
I laughed into his neck from happiness. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
I nodded. It was crazy. It was so not the kind of spontaneous thing I did. But it wasn’t even a question. I had to.
I wanted so much to be me again. I’d promised myself I would chase joy, climb out of my in-between, live a life of happiness that was worth living—and the only life I wanted to live was with him.
“I’ll pay your mortgage,” he said into my hair, a grin in his voice. “I’ll give you as much as you need.”
I pulled away so I could look at him. “No, I can’t let you do that. Maybe I can rent it?”
“It needs too many repairs to rent,” he said, his hands on my face. “Why don’t you sell it?”
Sell it?
“When we get back we can buy a new place,” he said. “Something better. Close to Kristen and Josh.”