Page 72 of Love Out Loud

Chapter 25

Lark

“I wish I never left Michigan,” Lennon mutters as his hand trails a path over the hill and valley of my waist and hip. It’s that predawn moment that feels perfect for whispered secrets and quiet declarations—a little fortress of hazy light and warm blankets that will keep them safe from the harsh reality of the real world.

I frown and search his eyes. They’re even more gold in the early morning light than they usually are. “Why?”

His hand stills on my hip, warmth seeping into my skin. “I’m angry that I missed so much time with you. We could have gotten here a lot sooner if I had been near you.”

“That’s sweet,” I say, “but I think you’re overestimating how much cuddle time a kid allows for.”

He huffs, and his hand resumes its idle exploration of my body. “You know what I mean.”

I do know what he means, because I feel it, too. Of course, we will never know if we would have taken this step before now if we were in closer proximity, but it’s possible. We’ve always loved each other. There were a few emotionally charged moments in high school. I may have realized Richard and I weren’t a good couple much earlier if Lennon had been around in college, though it pains me to think that might have meant never having Devin. But even with Devin, if Lennon and I had been together, my life would have looked so much different. I might have been able to perform more or had the freedom to be happier at the very least. It’s not that Richard didn’t want me to be happy; it’s just that we weren’t, and we didn’t realize it until it had grown so big there was no ignoring it anymore.

Anger might not be the word I’d use to describe it, but I certainly resent the time I could have spent feeling loved and cherished like I do now.

This isn’t something I particularly want to talk about. It’s water under the bridge. When Lennon decided to go to USC, it seemed like a good choice for him. Much as I tried to help him grow roots in Ann Arbor, he was always a little resistant, like he was ready for the next move. I suppose with parents who moved as much as his did, he had to be. So when he told me he was going to go, it made sense. And then I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t want to give up that California sunshine. Being here myself, I can see exactly why he wouldn’t have wanted to come back. Everything feels lighter and happier here. I’m not sure if that’s because of Lennon or the additional vitamin D or both.

But we are still in that security of predawn, so I ask, “Why did you leave?”

Lennon’s gaze immediately breaks away from mine. It dips down toward the mattress, as if he doesn’t want to look at me while he talks about this. “I was a stupid kid.” Each word is a deliberate choice. He shakes his head a little as if he can’t even believe his past decisions. “USC was great—don’t get me wrong. Obviously, I loved it here enough to stay. But I never really meant to settle here. I’ve never settled anywhere in my life.” He pauses, then runs his tongue over his teeth and shrugs. “I took some jobs, got set up, found a roommate…one job led to another, and all of a sudden, I was forty.”

I huff a laugh. “It happened fast.”

“Really fast.” His eyes meet mine again, earnest and clear. “I told you I almost packed it up and came back the last time I saw you.”

The sound of the pillow scrapes in my ear as I nod against it. “Why didn’t you?”

He shrugs again. “You deserve someone who doesn’t get the itch to just pick up and start over when the opportunity arises.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” I protest. “You’ve been the most constant thing in my life since we were teenagers. You’ve lived in this city for almost two decades.”

“Ten years ago, I almost did, though. I almost left here on a whim to move back to you. And I wasn’t sure what I wanted,” he says quietly. There’s a vulnerability in his voice that makes my heart ache. “Richard had just left you. Devin was still little. Everything felt tenuous for you. I didn’t want to add to the pile of projects for you to work on.”

I narrow my eyes, studying him. “You’re not a project for me to work on.”

“Not anymore, maybe. But I was when we were kids, and I would have been if I had moved back then, too.”

“I really wish you’d stop talking about my best friend like that.” I tick up an eyebrow. The sass earns me a small smile, but I can tell these wounds still run deep. Decades of jokes and reassurances haven’t mended them; they aren’t going to fix it now.

That tiny upward bent of his mouth turns melancholy. “I don’t want to ask you to stay, Songbird.”

My mouth pops open to argue, but I can’t get any words out around the sudden lump in my throat. I’ve been so busy rolling that email from Carl and the offer from Noah and the feel of Lennon’s body around in my head with pros and cons and more than a little trepidation about the possibility of giving up a life I worked so hard for to start over somewhere new. For a man, no less.

No, not just a man. Lennon. My Lennon.

Nonetheless, underneath it all runs the knowledge that he can do his sound editing from anywhere. I can record from anywhere, too. But that stable job I fought through sleepless nights and rushing around to mommy-and-me classes and the tearful clinging at daycare drop-off to keep—that stability Lennon just said he didn’t want to mess up—that’s back home, in Ann Arbor.

And yet his words have a vice grip on my chest. I had thought we’d figure it out together, not that he’d send me packing.

He must see the entire war play out on my face, because his eyes go wide and he inhales sharply. “I mean, I don’t want to ask you to stay because I don’t want to pressure you. Not because I don’t want you here.” He laughs at himself. “I don’t think I could live here without you if you decided to go. It wouldn’t be the same, now that you’ve been here. Now that I’ve had you.” He kisses me then—long and deep. It curls my toes and settles my heart.

“You could come back with me,” I whisper when we pull apart. My eyes are still closed. “I know we said we wouldn’t talk about it until I finish recording, but you said you almost came back ten years ago. Why not now?” I open my eyes to find his. They anchor me.

“I could,” he says slowly. “But is that really want you want?”

His words land in the space between us. I can’t fully absorb them, because I don’t know how to answer. I wait, silently, for some revelation, but it doesn’t come.