Page 29 of Jordan’s Breakthrough (Unexpected Love #3)

MILES

M y arms and chest are deadweight when I open my eyes. I struggle to move, unwilling to accept reality. Our last night together went by too fast.

The room is completely silent, aside from Jordan’s soft breathing. He’s on his back with his head turned toward me. His face is relaxed in sleep, so at peace.

So incredibly beautiful.

I brush a knuckle across his cheek. I could let him sleep a little longer, but I don’t want to. Not right now. Not when every second feels borrowed.

I kiss him softly, then again, slower this time. He stirs beneath me, eyes blinking open, and when they meet mine in the dim light, there’s no confusion.

“Touch me,” I whisper.

I cup his face, kissing him again. Reverently.

“Please, Jordan. I don’t need sex. I just need your hands on me.”

He rolls to his side, pulling me close. I watch his face, wanting to memorize it—every sound, every shiver, the way he holds my gaze. It’s exactly what I need.

Jordan leans in, kissing me deeply. Our touch changes from sensual to hungry in a heartbeat, and I pull him on top of me.

He rocks his hips, trying to get closer, then supports his weight as he stares down at me.

I pull him in for a kiss, wrapping one leg around him as I build to a climax. He moves slowly, his pressure firm.

When my orgasm comes, he drinks down my cry of relief, before sliding his arms under me. We roll to our sides, holding each other in pained silence for five minutes. I’m pushing my luck with the clock, but I don’t care.

Finally, Jordan pulls away and swiftly climbs out of bed. “Go shower.”

A few seconds later, the warm water is both a comfort and a countdown. I press my palms to the tile wall and let the truth of this moment settle like a weight on my back.

I have to leave Jordan, and I don’t want to. How am I going to say goodbye?

When I come out fully dressed with my bag in one hand, Jordan is in shorts and a tank top, hair brushed and tied back into a ponytail. He’s in the kitchen, packing a brown paper bag with some muffins and a banana. Simple, but perfect.

And completely unnecessary.

He’s moving with robotic precision, like if he slows down even a little, he’ll fall apart.

And suddenly, I can’t breathe.

What if this breaks him? What if me leaving sends him back into that dark place? Back to that moment when— no . Fuck, I can’t think like that.

I grip the counter as my heart thuds hard in my chest. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper. I can’t cry now. I can’t. I can’t lose it in front of him.

I feel helpless, knowing I am causing him pain yet incapable of carrying it. I’d whisk it away if I could, but I can’t. He needs to be the one who manages it. But will he? Or will he let darkness consume him?

Will his anchors be enough?

Jordan glances up with a tight-lipped smile that looks fragile. Forced .

“Shoes,” he says, nodding toward the door. “We need to go.”

I shake my head. “I… I ordered a Lyft.”

His brow furrows. “What? Why?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Because the second I walk through that door, I’m going to cry, Jordan. And I don’t want you to see that.”

I’ve never been good at goodbyes. With my family, with patients. You’d think after making and leaving new friends every six to nine months I’d be a pro at it, but no. I simply care too much. And I care about Jordan the most of all.

This is going to be the most impossible goodbye of all, even if it’s temporary.

“Miles—”

“Please.” My voice cracks. “Please, let me do this, Jord.” I’m already hanging on by a thread.

His eyes go wide, and he focuses on the bag he was packing for us.

He folds it over, his jaw tightening, like he’s fighting the urge to say something.

I hate that I’m hurting him, but I never expected this.

To feel this much when I came here. Or fall this fast. I knew I would eventually, if things went well.

But dammit! I shouldn’t be in love with him already.

And it’s stupid to get so worked up, right? This isn’t even a goodbye! It’s just goodbye for now. We’re going to see each other again someday.

We stand there for a moment, staring at each other like we can make this easier with sheer will. Then he crosses the room and pulls me into a hug so tight I feel it in my ribs. I clutch him back, burying my face in his neck. Grabbing his ponytail, I wrap his hair around my wrist one last time.

We hold on, our faces slowly drifting together. Our kiss is slow and full of everything we can’t fit into words.

“I’ll come back,” I whisper against his lips. “I don’t know when. Could be a couple weeks, or a couple months. But I will. I swear it.”

He nods, eyes shut, forehead resting against mine. “Call me the second you land, you hear? None of this giving each other a few days to recalibrate nonsense.”

Headlights flash in the window, slowing to a crawl near Jordan’s lot.

We both stop breathing.

I kiss him again, then once more before finally stepping back and reaching for my bag. I pause at the door to give Clematis a scratch, then turn to Jordan as I slip into my shoes. My voice is barely a whisper.

“Promise me you’ll hold on to every fucking anchor, Jordan.”

His throat works around the words. “I promise.”

I close the door behind me before I break.

Without looking at the driver, I slip into the backseat and rely on autopilot to direct him to the airport. My brain has checked out, scattered amongst the white gravel and rows of potted plants.

I’m tempted to look back, but I don’t. I can’t.

It’s not goodbye, Miles.

A few stray tears roll down my cheeks, but I hastily wipe them away. Not yet. I’ll take a seat at the back of the plane, then quietly let it out before we land.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to only allow three hours before I have to be at work today. I’m going to be dead on my feet, let alone a mess. But I wouldn’t have traded that last night for anything. Or this weekend. As much as it hurts, I’m still glad I came.

I get to my airport terminal with only fifteen minutes to spare. Just enough time to sit and eat the food Jordan insisted I take. It’s crazy how alone I feel now. I’ve been doing this for seven years. I should be used to it. Better at the isolation, even in a crowd.

But this loneliness is different.

I dig the heel of my palm against my breastbone, trying to scoop out some of the pain. It’s only temporary!

Sucking in a shaky breath, I pull my phone out to scroll through the dozen or so pictures I took the other night at Sunset Cliffs.

What strikes me is how different we are physically, to the point it’s almost comical.

With Jordan’s long dark hair and tanned complexion, next to my messy blond locks and pale skin.

His slim frame to my… not. Yet we fit. In every good and possible way, this trip proved that Jordan and I fit together.

It eases some of the ache.

I zoom in on the full-frame photo of Jordan and I together, noticing for the first time how his eyes are on me, not the camera. It makes me smile. He’s so in tune with me, always paying attention.

I send Jordan a few of the pictures.

Me: Miss you already, xo.

Turning off the screen, I take another calmer breath, feeling a little more grounded.

I’m going to be okay. We’ll get through it.

We’ll go back to video calls and constant messaging.

It’s not ideal, but it’ll work. It’ll keep us connected.

At least until we can be together again.

It’ll suck not to be able to touch him or kiss him…

lie naked with him. But that’s not what ever held us together anyway.

Our hearts do. Our hearts connected over a thousand miles. That means something.

My phone buzzes twice as I board the plane. I head straight for the back—thankful for unassigned seating—and stuff my backpack into the compartment above.

Only once I’m buckled and finally settled do I unlock my screen to read Jordan’s message.

Jordan: I wanted to read this to you in the car before you got out, but I understand why you needed space.

Turns out, I do too. I don’t think I would’ve made it through the first line without choking up.

Thank you for flying here, Miles. Thank you for everything.

I can’t tell you what it means to me that you cared that much.

I will ask the universe every day to keep you safe until we can be in each other’s arms again. XO

The message right after that one is not a normal message, and it makes tears instantly well in my eyes. I screenshot it immediately, just in case I can’t open it while we’re in flight.

Jordan:

“THE SWEETEST ANCHOR”

Basking here in evening light,

The moonlight warm, the silence right.

No need to move, no rush, no plan.

Just you, your love, your gentle hand.

The world may tilt, the winds may roam,

But in this stillness, I’ve found my home.

You hold me steady, you keep me true.

Here, in my darkness, I fall in love with you.

I read it so many times that I don’t even realize the plane is moving until it’s too late. The jets roar under my seat, telling me I’m too late to reply.

But I type it anyway, knowing it’ll go through as soon as I touch ground.

Me: FFS, Jordan. I was doing okay until that. Now I’m sobbing. Because I’m in love with you too! So deeply and stupidly in love with you. xoxo

****

I survive solely on autopilot for the first few days after I get back.

Jordan and I text often. Maybe too often.

I sneak peaks every second while at work, and we call each other every night.

In a way, it’s familiar. But in another, it’s like this part of our relationship was a lifetime ago.

A dream. It’s weird now to only connect through a screen, when for two and a half blissful days, I’d connected to Jordan in every way humanly possible.

The hotel room feels hollow each time I unlock the door after work. Lily has avoided me so far, like my leaving was the ultimate insult. It just makes it worse.