Page 49 of A Summer Thing

Chapter Twenty-Six

Declan

“Daclan, baby!” Jude’s out of breath voice hums through the phone and into my ear.

I smile.

God, I’ve missed him.

Once again, I haven’t seen him since last summer.

We could make a million excuses as for why, but in the end, things just didn’t work out.

We tried—more than a few times—but flights got cancelled or delayed, and work emergencies came up, and coursework became increasingly more overwhelming for both of us, and our holiday schedules never matched up, and after one disappointment after the other, we eventually mutually decided to let the idea go.

It’s become almost a tradition at this point that we only see each other in the summers, anyway.

So that’s what we had planned on doing for a while now, even though this summer wasn’t a guarantee, either.

As it is, most of it has already flown by.

I’ve been busy with work and saving money and dragging myself through yet another accelerated summer course, and Jude has been swamped with OTAs—Organized Team Activities, he explained over the phone a few weeks ago—and minicamps, and with finding a place to live in Denver—where he was drafted despite his family’s hopes, and my own, that he would end up closer to home, though that’s not to say we aren’t all through-the-roof ecstatic for him—and then he was plenty occupied with moving into his new place and getting situated, and now, he’s only a few days away from starting training camp.

Basically, Jude has been even busier than either one of us could have ever anticipated. Busier than he’s already been this last year, and that’s saying a lot. It’s also the reason why—technically—we aren’t dating now.

We were together last summer, and for months after that.

But when school got started and Jude fell deep into his world of football—games, and practices, and the many, many hours required at the gym—as well as keeping on top of his own grades and studies, our schedules constantly contradicting and our lives slowly wedging apart, we agreed not to put any labels on what it is we share.

Labels create expectations.

And expectations breed disappointment.

Two things neither of us had the capacity for this year.

Though, essentially, we still ended up doing the long-distance thing without calling it a long-distance thing.

All because I was scared—or terrified, really—to call us what we were and have been to each other.

To let him keep my heart fourteen-hundred miles away, and trust that it would be taken care of.

That it wouldn’t be accidentally forgotten—or worse, splintered into a million pieces.

I know he was feeling the same way.

It was his final year of college before going pro, and after that, everything would be uncertain, unexplored territory. What life would look like, how busy he’d be, what city he’d be in—the many ways his life would undoubtedly change.

The many ways it’s already changed are stacking up quickly. And truth be told, I don’t want to hold him back from experiencing it all. I still have two years left of college, so it’s obvious that I can’t just follow him around the country like I wish I could. Like he deserves.

The thought puts an ache in my chest the way it always does, mirroring the one that’s been there all year when I think about how much I miss him.

Texting, and talking on the phone, and FaceTiming, and gaming late into the night together have not been enough, no matter how intimate our calls can sometimes be.

“I made it! I’m here!” Jude says, tearing me from my many thoughts, and my heart soars. “We’ve got two days, baby.”

We weren’t sure we would be able to make it happen. Not with everything going on. But he did it; he made it happen like he promised he would. As impossible, as improbable, as it seemed.

My heart swells like a balloon and floats right up out of my chest.

I get him for two days. Just him and me.

Addy has been here for most of the summer, but she’s in Texas now, visiting Boss while he’s training, and that’s where she’ll be for the duration of Jude’s visit.

So, again, it’s just Jude and me. For the next two days.

We have two days.

Two. Days.

I already know we’re going to make the best of it.

______

Jude arrives at my dorm an hour later, his arms full of takeout.

I throw myself against him, wrapping my arms around him, bags of food thumping and clunking to the floor, before the two most comforting arms in existence wrap around me, firm palms pressed into my sides and pressing me into Jude’s solid body, his sturdy hold hugging me tightly against him.

Home, my heart screams in contentment. Home, home, home, home, home, home.

He dips his head down and settles his face into my neck as he sighs against me, the gritty sound humming against my skin. My breaths match his own, rising and falling in my chest with an ease I haven’t felt since last summer. Like my lungs have waited for this very moment to expel a full breath.

“Damn, Little D,” he murmurs. “It’s really good to see you.”

Our bodies are flush together, our arms are holding each other as close as we possibly can, our breaths have synced until they’re coming and going as one, and yet still, it doesn’t feel like enough.

He’s here, right here, and my heart still calls out for him.

I squeeze him even tighter, and he bends at his knees, his hands slipping down to the backs of my legs as he draws me up from the floor and wraps me around him.

That’s better, I think, but no, it’s still not enough.

I could bury myself inside him, embed myself in his bones, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Tears burn behind my eyelids, and within a few seconds, they’re rushing free. I hide them, and myself, by burying my face into his chest, into his dark hoodie that smells just like him, melting against the heartbeat that pounds against my cheek.

“It’s really good to see you, too,” I say, but the words are muffled by emotion and tears and the comfort of Jude’s sweatshirt.

He buries two hands in my hair and eases me out of my hiding place, pinning my gaze with his. “Whoa, baby. What’s all this about?”

I fall deeper into his stare, where it feels warm and safe and achingly comfortable. Where that same word keeps whispering through my mind— home, home, home.

“I missed you,” I hiccup, tears leaking from my eyes uncontrollably.

He wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs. “That goes without saying. But I’ll say it anyhow—I missed the fuck out of you, too.” He plants kisses down the side of my face, and they bloom beneath my ribcage. “Let’s get comfortable, catch up a bit, and eat while the food is hot, yeah?”

“Okay.” I sniffle.

His smile is gentle as he releases me to the floor, but my arms stay wrapped around him of their own volition.

His thumbs stroke my cheeks in soothing passes.

“This year is going to be different,” he promises, and I nod, vowing the same.

I don’t care how it has to happen; I’m not going another school year without seeing him again.

Picking the food up from the floor, he guides me to my bed where we sit down on top of the comforter, and then he starts pulling all the food from the bags he brought. Warm hoagies, chips, sodas, candy, some pastries from his favorite bakery nearby.

“How did you get all of this in the time you had between the airport and here?”

“I bribed Elijah. Asked him to pick it all up for me before he grabbed me from the airport so I could come straight to you.” He kisses my cheek, and my heart melts into a puddle that spills onto the floor.

We do exactly what he suggested, catching up as we eat. He asks about Addy, and I ask about his family and friends—though I’ve seen them often, and have spoken to him about them often, too.

Our bellies are full, all of our trash cleaned up and our leftover food put away, my heart aching a little bit less in his presence, when I get the wonderful idea to play Truth or Dare.

He chuckles but agrees without any need to convince him.

“Truth or dare?” I start.

“Truth,” he replies with a growing grin.

“Okay.” I take a deep breath, pretending to think about my first question when I don’t need to. “On a scale of one to ten, how much did you miss me?”

“Easy. Ten,” he immediately replies, and I hide my own smile behind the sleeve of my sweatshirt covering my hand.

When I manage to pull it away, I admit, “Same. That would be an easy ten for me, too. Or maybe more like a hundred—a thousand.”

Bumping me softly with his shoulder, he doesn’t bother to hide his own smile. “My turn now. Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” I say.

“How many of my games are you coming to see this year?” Not, Will you? Not, Are you? And my heart warms at the distinction, with the assumption that, without a doubt, it will be happening.

My smile grows bigger and then softens, warming me from the inside out.

“As many as humanly possible,” I answer.

I’ve managed to save more than I thought possible this last year, precisely so I could do just that.

Because I’m so proud of him—in awe of him, really—and it will be worth every penny to finally see him play in person and not just on the screen of my phone. But more than that, just to see him .

“Truth or dare?” I ask again.

His lips twist to the side, considering. “Truth.”

“Will you stay in New York for a bit, when the season is over this year?”

He swallows his bite of food with a dip of his head. “Without a doubt.”

I can’t contain the multitudes of smiles spilling out of me. We continuously pick truth, both of us fully aware it’s our excuse to ask everything—learn everything—we’ve missed out on throughout the year.

“How do you really feel about being drafted to Denver?” Because we talked about this, but not as in depth as I would have liked to. I congratulated him, and I asked if he was happy, and he said that of course he was, but now I’m really asking, and he gives me a full, transparent answer.