Page 45 of Dear Roomie (Classic City Romance #1)

James

A fter seeing my dad off at the airport, I broke traffic laws to get back to the apartment—to Morgan—in record time, only to find myself alone for hours, with nothing but my anxious thoughts to keep me company. I don’t know what else I expected. It’s not like Morgan is ever even home anymore.

He’s perfected the art of avoiding me.

That knowledge didn’t stop hope from building in my chest. Hope that maybe this time would be different, that somehow he would just know on some instinctive level that I needed him, and he would be waiting for me with open arms when I walked through the door.

The deafening silence that greeted me when I entered the apartment took that hope and tore it into tiny little pieces, destroying the fantasy reunion I built up in my mind.

So, instead, I’ve waited.

I scrubbed away the layers of grime I let accumulate, and once there was nothing else to clean, I paced circles through the living room.

The shadows of dusk chased away the sunlight and spread their inky tendrils into the sky, bringing forth the veil of night.

I watched it all pass, not daring to go anywhere else in case he came back and managed to slip into his room undetected.

My feet grew tired hours ago, forcing me to rest on the couch, but even still, he hasn’t come home.

Is this the new normal for him? Has he found somewhere else to spend his nights? Is it a woman? Has he moved on already?

I’ve done my best to respect his wishes; I’ve left him alone and let him live like a stranger beside me, no matter the cost to my sanity.

It hurts the most when something good happens and my first thought is “I can’t wait to tell Morgan,” only to remember that he doesn’t want to hear it.

I still write it in the notes, though, ones that he will never see.

In those moments, I can at least pretend that I never fucked things up.

I just need him to come home so I can try to make things right.

The sound of the deadbolt turning in the door is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

All of the air catches in my lungs as I watch that door open and my greatest desire step through.

My God, he’s a sight for sore eyes. He’s dressed in his normal pair of slacks and a button-down, with his hair hanging around his glasses in a mop of unruly curls.

I don’t know why, but I expected him to look different—be different.

Maybe it’s because I feel different on some fundamental level, but he’s still just my Morgan.

A smile forms on my face as I take him in, and my heart flutters, matching the beating of the butterflies’ wings in my stomach. I spring to standing, desperate to fling myself into his arms, but the look on his face stops me in my tracks.

He doesn’t want me here.

My gaze drops to the ground as I fidget with where the ring used to burden my finger. I didn’t think this far ahead. Every fantasy ended with me throwing myself into his arms and everything clicking back into place. I didn’t plan for a conversation .

“Morgan, we really need to talk.” I cringe as the unplanned words leave my lips. It’s so similar to what I told Tanner yesterday, but the intent behind them couldn’t be more different.

“James…” He sounds pained as he runs a hand through his hair.

That simple motion squeezes my chest, and the weight of just how much I’ve missed him crashes down around me. I was so fucking stupid for letting him go, for prioritizing everyone else’s feelings over my own. With any luck on my side, I’ll be able to make him see that.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. It’s late, and I’m tired.” His attention darts between me and the refuge of the hallway.

“Please.” I put every ounce of emotion I have into that choked plea. He isn’t walking away from me again. I won’t let him.

His shoulders sag as the fight leaves him, and he gives me a small nod.

Unable to resist his thrall any longer, I close the gap between us with tentative steps and grab his hand, guiding it to cradle the side of my face.

He shudders as I lean into his touch, and his thumb caresses my cheek.

The motion is so subtle, I doubt he’s aware he’s doing it, but it sends a wave of electricity through my body, erupting goose bumps across my skin.

“Thank you.” I lower our hands, keeping them locked together as I guide us to the couch. He follows without a word. I can’t bring myself to let go, even after we’ve both settled on the cushions. Having his hand in mine feels too right.

“I ended things with Tanner.” The words tumble out of me in one long breath. My teeth catch my bottom lip between them, preventing anything else from spilling out while I wait for his response.

He presses his thumb to the back of my hand, giving me a wistful smile before he pulls his hand out of my grasp and places it on his knee.

“That’s good. I’m proud of you, James.”

That’s it ? Does he not realize what this means ?

“Don’t you see? We can be together now like we talked about before.” I reach for his hand again, but he moves it away. It’s a fluid movement, subtle even, but it’s clear he’s avoiding my touch.

“No we can’t,” he says, dropping his eyes to look at anything but me.

His rejection is a physical blow to my chest, and my paper heart crumples from the force of it.

“W-what do you mean we can’t? Of course we can.

Tanner isn’t an issue. It will be just like we talked about.

I’m so sorry it took me this long to figure it out.

I should have ended things with Tanner at the beach, but I was a coward.

I fucked everything up and kept making the wrong choices, but I’m making the right choice now.

We can finally be together. There isn’t anything holding us back anymore.

” My voice takes on a hysterical edge that only grows with each uttered phrase.

“I know.” His lashes flutter as they fall shut, and a look of absolute anguish mars his beautiful face. His chest heaves as he fights for composure, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re steeled. “I’m what’s holding us back. I can’t—won’t—do this with you, not now.”

“Why not?” A hot lump forms in my throat.

How can he be doing this to us?

“I don’t want to be your rebound.”

My rebound ?

I’d laugh if my world wasn’t crashing down around me. There is no universe where what this man means to me could be reduced to that. Does he really think so little of what’s between us? Does he not realize how much I love him?

“You wouldn’t be,” I tell him, but those three words are different from the ones threatening to bubble up and spill out of me. I’m not ready to say them yet, not when he still might leave me after.

“Yes I would. You’ve barely been single for a day. Jumping from one relationship into the next isn’t what you need. ”

“What I need is you.” My hands reach out for him again without conscious thought, drawn in by whatever spell it is he has me under.

“No it isn’t.” He moves before my fingers make contact, jerking away and running his hand through the tangled mess of curls to keep it out of my yearning grasp. “What you need is time to process everything that’s happened and heal from it.”

“But—”

“No buts. If I give in now, there’ll always be a nagging doubt in the back of my head that you are only with me because I was a safe place to land, not because you wanted to be with me . I’m not saying no forever, but right now, this can’t happen.”

All of yesterday and this morning passed by without me shedding a single tear, but this is my breaking point.

My breath hitches as I’m overcome with a heaving sob, and hot tears spill over my lashes.

He places a hand on the side of my face, cradling it in his palm, and wipes the falling tears from my cheek with his thumb.

A glassy sheen covers his hazel orbs, making them look like liquid amber under the warm glow of the overhead light.

I didn’t think the dingy bulb had the ability to cast this sort of illumination, to make someone glow, but the golden hues reflect off Morgan’s tortured features, creating the perfect balance of darkness and light, painting him as the paragon of righteous self-sacrifice.

My fingers itch to immortalize the image on canvas: The End of a Good Knight .

He drops his head toward mine, and the gleam is eclipsed in shadow.

For a moment, I think he might kiss me—no, I’m certain of it.

His eyes are locked on mine as his lips descend.

Even through my tears, my heart swells in anticipation.

That bubble of hope in my chest bursts as his lips stop short, and he presses his forehead against mine, shifting his hand to rest in my hair.

“Don’t cry, pretty girl,” he pleads. “You’re breaking my heart.”

“Well, you’re breaking mine,” I accuse .

“I know.” His expression shifts, pinching in pain, and he lets out a deep sigh. “I’m so sorry, James.”

We stay locked like that, breathing each other in, until my tears run dry. The moment passes by, feeling like a millisecond and an eternity all wrapped up as one.

The brush of his warm lips on my forehead as he pulls away simultaneously sends electric currents racing through my body and pierces through my already mangled heart.

He leaves me there, alone on the couch, but this time, for some reason, it doesn’t feel like he’s running away, at least not forever.

It’s a tactical retreat, one so we can regroup and come back together stronger.

He pauses in the doorway and turns back to face me, opening his mouth as if to speak before closing it again with a small shake of his head, and he slips into the darkened hallway.

I just need to give him time. I can do that.

As much as I hate it, I think he might be right.

My heart needs room to breathe so that all this pain that’s been festering doesn’t grow stale and stagnant in my chest, poisoning it and leaving it uninhabitable for the love that wants to grow there. For him, I can be patient.