Page 17 of All I Have Left

EVIE

W hy did I come here? I knew better. I knew what this would mean being close to him. I knew how I’d react and the way my heart would cling to the hope that Grayson could fix my life. He shouldn’t have to. I shouldn’t have made such a mess of it.

But I did, and here I am, doing what? Leading him on?

My body trembles against his, a shake I can’t control.

It’s too much, being this close to him, and I don’t want to let go.

Carefully, I lay my hand on his stomach again, absentmindedly tracing circles.

His muscles are so tight and tense that I wonder if this is bothering him.

I don’t know this guy anymore. I don’t know what he’s been through, if he’s been with anyone since me, or even what he’s doing back here.

With my eyes on the wall beside his bed, I whisper into his chest, “Where have you been?”

At first, I don’t think he knows what I’m asking. In many ways, I could be asking a blanket question, like where’d you go, and where have you been in terms of leaving me.

His breath catches, his breathing intensifies, but he doesn’t answer me .

“Are you home for good or is this just a visit?” I ask timidly. I hate the way my heart kicks to life, a spark lit in anticipation. I notice when I shift my body to look at him, his entire frame tenses, as if he’s uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” he whispers softly in my ear, nuzzling his face in my hair. Tears sting my eyes and before I know it, I’m crying. Happy tears maybe, not like what I experience with Shane. I hide my face in his armpit. Grayson doesn’t say anything, but he does hold me close, and I think that’s all I need.

But still, I have so many questions for him. Why’d he leave in the first place? Why didn’t he write me back? Why didn’t he call? Had our friendship meant so little to him? Lifting my head, I stare at him.

Turning his head, his eyes slowly drift to mine. Swallowing hard, he cranes his neck forward and then his lips press against my cheek. I’m not expecting that. At all.

As I try to regroup, Grayson’s entire body shifts and he’s suddenly half on top of me, his lips gliding from my cheek to the curve of my neck.

His hot breath is heavy against my heated skin.

Oh God, that scruffy jaw sends a rush of tingles through my entire body.

I think I sigh, or some kind of needy sound leaves my lips.

At the sound, a grunt leaves his lips as he presses his body closer, his hand moving from the mattress to my hip where he grips it and angles his own hips into mine.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Girl, stop him. This is not what you need.

Oh, but it’s nice. Him this close, his heavy breathing, his touch, it’s perfect.

And he’s hard, so there’s that. I did that.

I made him hard. It’s probably because of this stupid dress, but also, we have history.

But then a thought surfaces. Is that what he wants from me?

Sex? I mean, after all this time? I did sneak into his window wearing practically nothing.

Kinda set the tone a bit though, didn’t I?

I fight through emotions that have been building for years, my hand moving to his shoulder when he rolls slightly, his weight pushing me into the mattress.

And then he kisses me and I let him. Our lips connect and it’s everything I’ve been dying to experience since he left.

He starts out tender, but then he deepens the kiss and I know where it’s heading.

I kiss him, too. I kiss the Grayson I fell for, the one I know.

In the midst of all this, he pushes up onto his palms and before I know it, he’s on top of me.

He brings his mouth back to mine. I let him and lift my hips.

He’s breathing heavy against my lips, but nothing like I am. I don’t know when it happens, probably when his hand that’s on the mattress supporting him moves to my ass that I realize what we’re doing and that I need to stop it.

Drawing in a careful breath, I blow it out with a sigh. “Grayson,” I whisper.

He stops immediately, his eyes finding mine. Raised up on his hands again, his hooded stare scrolls over every inch of my face. He swallows again, the roll of his throat exaggerated. “Sorry,” he pants, trying to capture his breath.

“We can’t do this tonight.”

His jaw tightens. “Because of him?”

“No, because of you.” I search his face for an answer, my fingertips bunching the fabric of his shirt together.

“You left me. Like I meant nothing to you at all. No phone calls, no letters. Nothing. I slept in your bed damn near every single night, and you didn’t say a word to me about leaving.

How do you think that made me feel? I hate you for doing that to me. ”

His jaw clenches, his words pushing out with a huff when he rolls onto his back again. “I promise you, you don’t hate me as much as I hate myself for leaving.”

I lift up and stare at him. It takes him a moment, but his eyes finally find mine, and I notice the trepidation in them. “So why did you? How did I mean so little to you that you could just leave me with a note? ”

His brow draws together. “I was stupid.” Snorting, he shakes his head. “I know you want more of an answer than that, and you deserve it, but I don’t have one. At least not one that makes sense.”

I stare at him and I don’t know what possesses me to do this, but I do. “What would you have done if I had gotten pregnant that night? And you left. No contact. I could have a two-and-half-year-old next door with your stupid pretty brown eyes and my nose, ’cause it’s cuter. A kid you’ve never met.”

He gasps, his eyes wide, and he swallows thickly. “What?” Sitting up, he looks like he’s going to throw up. Super pale and fidgeting. I almost laugh. But I hold out a little longer. “Really?”

“Yep,” I lie with a shrug and a smile. “Surprise.”

His mouth falls open. “Frankie would have said something. My parents would have.”

I laugh. “I’m fucking with you, but your face was totally worth it.”

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, flopping back against the mattress.

“My point is, I could have, and what would you have done?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, staring at the ceiling. “Helped you out the best I could until I got out.”

I let out a deep breath, my stare lingering on the place between his shoulder and chest where I fit so perfectly.

Letting go, I sag into him. I don’t want to fight with him.

I’m too tired to keep placing blame. Tomorrow I can go back to being angry, but all I want at this moment is to be held by him and nothing else.

His lips find my forehead again, his voice shaking as he whispers, “I really am sorry. It’s not enough, but I am.”

“Me too.” And though I don’t expand on why, I think he knows. I’m sorry that he didn’t call or write, but most of all, I’m sorry that this is what he’s coming back to. Me. No longer the girl he left behind. I’ve become a memory and in her place is a woman I don’t recognize .

“It wasn’t that you meant so little to me. I just wasn’t enough for you back then.”

I breathe in his scent, so consumed in my own thoughts I’m not sure I absorb the true meaning behind them.