“Sol?” I say nervously, then continue talking. “I had to see you. I’ve been a mess the past three weeks. I haven’t been able to move on because I feel like something’s missing. I didn’t get to say goodbye before you left. I just want to see you. To say goodbye face-to-face, then you’ll never hear from me again. I swear to God—”
“Grace,” he snaps, cutting me off.
“Yeah?”
“You drive me insane,” he says, anger and concern cracking in those words.
“What?”
“When I saw your call, I was so worried. Then you answered the phone, and you weren’t making sense. Do you have any idea how scared I was?”
Clearly, I hadn’t thought this through. Shit. “I’m so sorry.”
“Okay, text me the exact address where you’re parked. I’ll pick you up.”
I start to protest, but he stops me.
“You’re upset, and I don’t want you driving in your condition. Text me the address, okay?”
“Okay.”
God, I love him so much.
My Sol.
My best friend. The guy I’m in love with, who can never be mine.
After texting him the address, I rest my chin on my knees and wait. I don’t want to think about how it’ll feel to see him because my heart already aches from how much I’ve missed him the past three weeks. Every time a song plays on the radio or from my playlist, I picture Sol playing it on his guitar.
Abruptly, lights flash inside my car. A truck parks in front of mine, and a few minutes later, the driver’s door opens and long, muscular, denim-clad legs appear. Then broad shoulders and a head full of unruly hair.
I’m frozen in my seat as I see Sol slam the door shut, watch as he makes the short walk between our two cars. He looks bigger and broader than I remember.
Random thoughts rush inside my head; that white T-shirt framing his chest and torso looks great on him. His jaw is clenched tight, and a muscle pulses furiously there. It’s hot and scary because I’ve never seen him this pissed. But it’s his mouth that has me breathing hard. His lips look ridiculously full and pink and so hot.
He reaches my car door and yanks it open. Then he just stares at me, and I stare at him, the air between us pulsating with energy.
He lunges forward all of a sudden and snatches me from my seat, dragging me out of the car. And then I’m in his arms, wrapped so tightly I can’t breathe, but I don’t care because I’d live like this, in his arms, forever. The warmth of his skin seeps into mine, and I feel alive and nervous and giddy and shaky.
He pulls back, his large hands on my shoulders. His gaze roams my face while his fingers trace the same path his eyes did.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs, finally cupping my face in his hands.
I nod, feeling guilty for being the cause of those worry lines creasing his forehead.
“We can’t leave your car here.” He looks at my car, uncertainty on his face. “I’m gonna drive my truck, and you follow me closely, okay?”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can talk.” He plants a kiss on my forehead. “Get in your car.”
I do as I’m told. He watches me until I’m buckled in my seat, then shuts the door and jogs to his truck. Within seconds, we’re on the road. My stomach is like a roller coaster. I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now.
“Want some water?”
“Yes, please.”
These are the first words we’ve spoken since he picked me up. I’m starting to think coming here wasn’t such a great idea. There’s just too much space and no people to act as buffers.
He heads to the refrigerator and returns with a bottle of water. My throat is dry, and not because I’m thirsty. We’re so close yet feel so far away. The need to reach out and touch him is breaking me apart, robbing me of my breath.
I gulp the water down greedily as he watches my every move intensely. When our eyes meet, he swallows hard and points toward the couch in the living room.
“It’s a beautiful house,” I say, totally sucking at this small chat thing. “This is where you lived with your parents before . . . Wait, won’t someone at the dorms notice you’re missing? Your roommate maybe?”
He just grunts, then says, “Turns out, we don’t have roommates. Each of us has our own room in the resident halls. Right now, my fellow brothers are either in the common room playing video games or playing pool or foosball. No one will notice. And curfew is in two hours.”
He sits down on the couch across from me, propping his elbows on his thighs, and continues to watch me with those eyes. It’s so hard to read him right now. Other than the concerned way he looked at me when he showed up thirty minutes ago, he looks almost unaffected. Maybe he’s already moved on with his life. I mean, he always had a clear goal in mind of which direction he wanted his life to go, even before I entered it.
I blink back tears and pretend to study every inch of the room. I feel lost more than ever now that I’m here in front of Sol, but he’s a million miles away from me.
I set the bottle of water on the table and stand, heading to the fireplace mantle. There are three pictures inside silver frames. Two of the photos show a woman who is the spitting image of Luke, and the second frame has an older version of Sol. His mom and dad. In one of the photos, a younger Sol with his usual tousled dark hair and electric blue eyes grins widely at the camera. I reach forward and touch his face on the photo, my lips twitching into a smile.
“Why are you in Boston, Grace?” It’s the raw need in his voice that makes me turn around to face him. Pure torment is etched across his features.
Inhaling deeply, I turn around to look at him, anxiety churning in my stomach.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?” I hate how small I feel, how needy I sound. I’m beginning to realize love and heartbreak have no shame. I’d drop to my knees in front of him and beg him to just love me.
Hold me.
Just one more night. I’d do anything to feel his arms around me.
Sol shoves his fingers into his hair and tugs at the wavy mass. “It’s taking all my power to hold myself back right now.” He takes deep breaths and exhales slowly, his large frame shuddering with restraint. “Good God, Gracie.” He whispers the latter in a vicious growl, and I don’t know if he’s pissed or happy I’m standing in front of him.
Nevertheless, I close my eyes and let that sound wash over me.
When I open them again, he’s standing in front of me, so close. I don’t move, though. Being this close to him is the cure I need for the venom annihilating every semblance of who I am.
“I’m sorry.” I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
He sighs and pulls me in for a hug. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left the way I did.”
At his words, my throat grows tight, so I bury my face into his chest and inhale his scent.
“But you did,” I mutter into his chest. “You hurt me, Sol, and I fell to my knees. I can’t stand back up, and I’m so fucking tired. Every time I think my legs are strong enough to hold me up, I see you everywhere I look. I feel you in here”—I press my hand to my heart—“and I trip and fall again.”