Page 140 of Come to Me

"The problem is... I do, Ally. When I look at you, I see forever. I see our wedding day. Our honeymoon. I see us getting old and crotchety and bemoaning the kids and their terrible taste in TV." My stomach drops. This is terrible. It's awful. But it's what I have to do. "When you look at me... you don't see any of that."

"I..."

She shakes her head.

It fucking hurts. It's not a surprise, but it still fucking hurts.

"It's okay," I reassure her, my heart breaking. I absorb everything I can about this moment--the smell of her hair, the softness of her skin, the feeling of her body against mine. "You've spared my feelings for long enough. I want the truth. Not platitudes."

She chokes back another sob.

I swallow past the knot in my own throat.

"So that's it? Engagement's off, I'm moving out. Everything is over?"

"You're miserable with me."

She breaks our embrace and moves back. Her arms tighten around her chest and she looks into my eyes. It's angry. "Don't pin this on me. That's a cowardly move."

I clench my fists. "Fine. Neither of us is fully happy." She flinches. I soften my tone, but I don't stop. This has to come out. "I love you so much, Alyssa. When I'm with you, I feel like my heart could burst. But every time you put me off, every time you don't talk to me about what's going on, every time you can't make a simple commitment to our future together... a little part of me feels like it's dying. I can't do it anymore. I don't like feeling like I'm fucking forcing you into marriage."

A tear rolls down her cheek. I want to go to her, to hold her, to kiss all that pain away. But I have to be strong here.

"I still remember seeing you with Ryan, thinking how tragic it was that someone so smart and sure of herself was willing to settle for someone who didn't make her happy. And I wanted so much to convince you that you deserved better. And, now, here I am. I'm the asshole fiancé who isn't making you happy. And I can't live with that."

She shakes her head, wiping at her face.

"But you're not... you're nothing like him."

"I'm not going to tell you how you feel," I say. "But I can't be with you unless we're both happy." I look at her, into those clear, blue eyes. "Are you happy?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know."

"Neither do I."

There's a long silence. The waves roll onto the beach, a slow, steady rhythm. They'll be there, rolling in and out, forever.

A warm breeze passes over me, pressing my T-shirt against my skin.

This will hurt a little less tomorrow.

We'll both hurt a little less tomorrow.

"I should get to decide who makes me happy," she mutters. It's barely a protest, but it's something.

"You do," I say. "But so do I. And I can't be with you like this--with the two of us 3,000 miles apart no matter how close together we are."

A tear rolls down her cheek. I tell myself not to hold her, not to stroke her hair, not to do something to ease the agony she's feeling in this moment.

But I can't. I take her into my arms, holding her tightly, soaking in the warmth of her body.

"I don't want to put any more demands on you," I say. "But I can't keep fighting all your defenses."

She squeezes me. "If you're breaking up with me, do it. Say it."

She's right. I have to pull the band-aid.

"I'm breaking up with you."