Page 58 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)

“Do you think that was easy for me to do? Do you think I wanted to lose you?” His voice is rough with unspent tears, is heavy with regret as he paces toward me, cradling my face in his hands and I can’t help but lean into his touch.

“I think you were a coward,” I tell him, and he winces as I shove him away. “I think it was easier than asking me to stay.”

“What should I have done, Gen? What do you want me to do?” His voice carries, is a warm caress across my skin even though we’re fighting, even though we’re finally having this out and I don’t know how it will end.

“Forgive me. Believe me,” I demand, hands on my chest like maybe he’ll finally get it. Finally understand that it’s always going to be him I want, if he’ll let me, and I see him start to cry.

“Choose me,” I yell, to the sky, to the heavens, to him.

“Just choose me. All I want is you. Still , Grant. It’s suffocating me, how much I want you, but this ?

You saving me, rescuing me, claiming me when it’s convenient for you?

You ignoring me for weeks but swooping in because you think I need your protection? I don’t?— ”

He closes the distance between us again, his hand tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck, his eyes burning with frustration.

“I will never stop protecting you. Don’t ask me to do that.

No matter what we are to each other, I won’t stop.

” His possession feels so good, and almost distracts me from what I really want.

Longing burns in his gaze, wraps around my spine and fills me with hope at the same time it fills me with dread.

Because he’s always wanted me; just never enough to face his fears;never enough to really choose me .

And we’re so close. Almost there.

It’s reaching the heavens but being too afraid to reach out your hand.

“I don’t want your protection. Not if I can’t have you.

All I want is you . Every part of you. Every fear, every dream, every sad thing, every good thing—everything, Grant.

I am so in love with you, even now, even after you told me to go, even after I tried to stop.

I love you and it is consuming me. I don’t want to stop loving you but even worse, I’m afraid I won’t ever be able to stop,” I tell him on a sob, and his exhale is shaky.

“I know I hurt you. I know that it felt like I abandoned you. But listen to me when I tell you I will never do it again. You have to know that. You have to believe me, Grant. I don’t want to accept that this is it, that I won’t get to have every moment with you but—“ I stop, pulling in a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “I can’t fix you. And I won’t try. I’ve done that before.”

He sucks in a breath, our bodies impossibly close as he studies me, jaw twitching as tears well in his deep sea eyes. And it’s there—the pain, the hurt, not just from me but his mother.

“Gen, where did you—“ Liv’s voice cuts through the snowy veil of the moment, abruptly stopping at the sight of us, pulling us both back to reality.

I step slightly back, feeling weighed down by the finality of this.

But I want everything with him, and I know that anything but complete surrender to each other will keep us from that.

“Come to my show tomorrow. Or don’t come,” I tell him, my lip quaking as I even give that option. “But I can’t do this forever. Can’t hurt like this forever,” I tell him, my nose twitching as more tears dampen my face.

He nods, face straining with the torrent of emotions running through them, and I hope it’s enough. “Okay,” he says, throat bobbing as he nods. I pull away from him, the growing distance between us feeling like a sick joke.

Maybe we could be leaving here together. Maybe I could’ve just brushed everything under the rug.

But how long would that have worked? How long until we’d fracture again, splinter and shatter, bleed from the fallout?

I spare him a glance as I walk back toward Liv, grateful that she brought my coat, and when I look at Grant his face is turned toward the dark sky, snowflakes disappearing on his skin as tears glisten there, falling softly.

“Come on. Ben’s going to take him home,” she tells me, and I break down, relieved that someone is there for him, even if it can’t be me.

We pile into my car: Liv drives, Jean takes the back bench without protest, and I lean against the passenger side window, the glass foggy from my hot tears.

No one turns on the radio or connects their phone; Liv and Jean don’t even make idle chatter.

But I can feel their thoughts silently churning, and I can feel them replaying the night over and over.

I don’t know how much they heard, but they saw the end of it .

“I don’t know if I did the right thing,” I finally admit, my intake of breath a small gasp for air amid my tears. “Fuck. I hate this.” My face crumbles in on itself as Jean’s hand comes up to grasp my shoulder and Liv’s free hand holds mine.

“Choosing yourself is never the wrong thing, G,” Jean croons, and I breathe it in. Let it settle deep inside me as we drive into the night.