Page 155 of Until August

Without stopping to think, I grabbed a pair of sneakers from my closet, jammed my feet into them, and pulled a beanie over my head.

Then I raced down the stairs, burst out the door, and ran down the driveway.

My heart was racing, and my limbs were shaky as I rounded the hood to the passenger side and flung open the door.

I slid onto the bench seat, pulled the door closed then slumped against the seat.

I was panting, trying to catch my breath.

He was watching me like he wasn’t sure how to act or what to say. Then, his gaze flitted over my outfit—my husband’s sweatpants and Lakers hoodie, thick fuzzy Christmas socks, and a gray beanie.

I probably looked deranged, and I’d obviously taken him by surprise. Chances were, he hadn’t expected me to come outside and jump into his truck.

It smelled like coffee and like August. Sandalwood and citrus. Warm and masculine. I was dizzy from it. “Why are you sitting outside my house?”

He shook his head. “I don’t have a fucking clue.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and squinted into the distance. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, I guess.”

My heart squeezed. August was still trying to protect me, even from afar. “And you thought you could do that from inside your truck?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted you to know I’m here if you need me.”

“And here I am. In your truck.”

“Here you are.” He took a swig of coffee and passed the travel mug to me.

I wrapped my hands around it and took a sip. The coffee tasted bitter on my tongue. I took another sip and passed it back to him.

“I miss you,” I said, pulling the sweatshirt sleeves over my hands. “And I love you. I’ve loved you all along.”

I waited for him to speak, but he was quiet for so long that I almost wondered if I’d said the words aloud or just thought them in my head. Finally, he sighed. “What am I supposed to do with that information, Nicola?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” I leaned back against the seat, facing forward, and wrapped my arms around myself. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“Do you need me to tell you who you are?”

“I don’t know. I’m just… trying to figure out how to do this. It still doesn’t feel real,” I admitted. Since the night Cruz died, I hadn’t shed a single tear.

August didn’t say anything, and I was glad about it. I didn’t need to hear I’m sorry from another person. I was tired of hearing those words.

Instead of speaking, he reached for my hand and held it in his big warm, calloused one.

I took a deep breath and let it out. It felt like the first time I’d been able to breathe in weeks.

It was funny. When I first met August, I thought he sucked all the oxygen out of the room. Now I felt like I didn’t even know how to breathe without him.

I wanted to crawl across the seat and climb into his lap. Press my cheek against his chest and my hand over his heart to feel the strong and steady beat under my fingertips. Press my face against the side of his neck and breathe him in.

But I stayed where I was and looked down at our joined hands.

“Can you take me somewhere?”

He let go of my hand and gripped the steering wheel. “Why? Because you need a distraction?”

I nodded slowly. “I need a distraction. And you’re the only person I actually want to be with.”

“Lucky me,” he deadpanned, but he turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere. I just want to be with you.” I knew I sounded unhinged. But I didn’t have the energy to care.