But once we’re both tucked in bed, naked, holding each other, Lincoln fast asleep, I allow myself to feel again, to suffer the heartbreak bubbling up inside. Because after tonight, I only have one more night with him, and one more night is definitely not enough.
Because only forever would be.
And I know love . . . forever . . . doesn’t exist.
Indie: Scar, I can’t do this. I can’t go there.
Scarlett: Where are you?”
Indie: A street away from his house.
Scarlett: Indie, I know it’s going to be painful, but you have to go. You don’t have a choice.
Indie: I can’t say goodbye. I just . . . can’t.
Scarlett: Then don’t let it be a goodbye. Let it be a see you later.
Indie: I think we both know it’s not going to be a see you later. This is it.
Scarlett: Well if you’re not going to allow yourself to continue whatever this is with Lincoln, then you at least owe it to him to say goodbye. After everything you two have been through. If you don’t say bye, I don’t think he’ll ever forgive you.
Indie: Maybe that’s for the best. Leaving angry is better than leaving sad.
Scarlett: Where the hell did you hear that from? That’s not true. Indie, listen to me, you have to say goodbye. He’s counting on it.
Scarlett: Indie . . .
Scarlett: Indie, I swear to God, do not run on him. Not today, not now.
Scarlett: Indie!
Chapter Twenty
LINCOLN
Lincoln: Hey babe, just wondering where you are. I need to head out soon.
I stare at my phone, my stomach twisting in knots, wondering where the hell Indie is. She’s ten minutes late. My moms have already gone, after saying a tear-filled goodbye. I gave them each a hug, promised to call at least once a week, and then thanked them for everything they’ve done for me. It was hard to say goodbye to them, especially since they’ve been a little over two hours away whenever I’ve needed them, but I know this is the next step in my life.
Now saying goodbye to Indie? This is what I’ve been dreading, what I’ve been trying to prepare myself for all week. And even though I’ve mentally prepped, the fact that she’s late and not responding has me thinking she’s going to skip out on the goodbye, which would be fucking shitty.
Last night, when I was deep inside her, pulsing in and out, I swear I heard her gasp in sorrow, and when I looked into her eyes, in the moonlight, I think I saw a tear. Before I could decipher it, she turned her head away and pulled on my backside to move quicker.
I wanted to ask her about it but by the time I came back from the bathroom, she was curled into the pillow, eyes closed. And when I woke up this morning, there was a note on the nightstand from her claiming she had some things to do and she’d catch me later.
Catch me later, as if we’re not going to say goodbye to each other today.
As if my entire thought process is being thrown into a mixer and being scrambled.
Besides despite the maybe tear I saw last night, she seems unaffected, and that’s more concerning than anything, because all I can wonder is . . . will she miss me?
Growing impatient, I open my contacts and call Scarlett. She answers on the second ring.
“Hey Lincoln.” That doesn’t sound like a very good greeting.
“Is she coming?”
“Linc, man . . .” My heart falls, and I sit down on the front steps of my house.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
After everything we’ve been through. All the ups and downs. She’s not going to fucking show up?
She’s not going to say bye to me?
I push my hand through my hair, my anger spiking, just as I see a bright red Mazda come around the corner.
Christ.
“Never mind. She just pulled up,” I say, keeping my eyes on her the entire time.
“Thank God,” Scarlett mutters, and I hang up, not bothering to dive into her response. I stay seated on the steps and watch as Indie puts the car in park and then sits there for a few moments, staring out the windshield.
Eventually, her car door opens and she steps out. I watch her wipe at her eyes and when she turns to face me, I see it—the same agony I’m feeling.
The air seems to still as time passes by us—our eyes connected, our collective sorrow coming together . . . finally.
I stand, meet her by the passenger side, and pull her into a hug. A sob escapes her as she clutches my shirt. I bury my head in her hair, trying to commit the subtle scent to memory.
Her body shudders against mine, as her tears seep through my shirt. I suck in a deep breath. Tears of my own form.
Hartley was right. Or more to the point, I was wrong. Very wrong.
This isn’t just painful, like he suggested all those months ago. I had no idea that hugging Indie this last time would feel as though I’m ripping my heart out of my chest. I said goodbye to my parents, knowing it was simply a natural part of life. But this? It doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel natural at all.
“Shh,” I say on a shaky breath.
“I . . . don’t know how to say bye to you, Lincoln. I don’t know how to let you go.” She pulls away and looks up at me. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Then don’t,” I say out of desperation. “Don’t say it. We can work this out, Indie. We can figure it out.”
She shakes her head. “I think we both know that’s a lie, Lincoln.”
And even though I don’t want to believe it, I’m pretty sure she’s right.
I haven’t known of many guys who’ve been able to work things out with their girls after college. When I was a freshman, I heard about the brutal breakups that Knox Gentry and Carson Stone went through. Do I want to do that with Indie? Go through something so devastating that there’s no possible chance we could make things right?
Or do I want to savor this moment, end things on a good note, where the door might always be open?
Looking down at her, I realize—I think—that’s the only option. Even though I don’t want to admit it, I don’t think Indie is ready for anything long-distance. I could see it falling apart quickly, and that’s not a risk I’m willing to take, not where she’s concerned. Which means I have to say goodbye with a hope in the back of my head, that our paths will connect again.
“Fuck,” I breathe out heavily, as her hands climb up my chest and then grip my cheeks.
When I meet her gaze, my heart shatters right there in the gravel of the driveway.
“You’re going to do great things, Mayhem,” I say, feeling the finality of this moment. “You’re bound to do amazing things. I can feel it on my bones.” Her lip trembles. “And I know, one day, despite what you say, I’m going to turn on SportsCenter, and you’re going to be on the screen, looking hot as shit in a white shirt and white shorts, playing for Team USA. I can feel it, babe.”
More tears spill down her cheeks but she doesn’t say anything. I’m not sure if it’s because she can’t, or if because she won’t. But I need to hear her voice, I need to know she’s going to be okay.
“Say something, Indie.”
She opens her mouth, and her voice catches in her throat. Looking away, she wipes at her tear-stained cheeks and then takes a deep breath. Meeting my eyes again, she says, “Thank you for everything, Lincoln. You made this last year at school feel easy. You made it fun. You showed me what true friendship is, and I’ll never forget it.”