Page 391 of Off Limits: The Firsts

But I also don’t want to lose who I am.

“Whoa. Well, if that’s the kind of greeting I get when I come here when my shift ends, then I’ll be here every day at this time.” He chuckles against my lips as I just pull him into me and hold on tighter.

How am I going to tell him?

How am I going to convince him I’m not going to leave again?

“Em, I can put these with my shit when I take this trip . . .” Leo says as he turns the corner, his words trailing off when he sees Grant standing in front of me.

“Trip to where?” Grant asks as he takes notice that the containers are labeled as kitchen, desk, and bathroom. Grant looks from me to Leo and then back to me. “What the hell is going on, Emerson?” He’s already shaking his head, rejecting the notion that he already knows.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about tonight,” I say, my voice barely audible. In my periphery, I see Leo slowly slink away and wish I could go with him. If the look on Grant’s face is any indication, our date night is about to turn into a blowout fight.

“You’re not going anywhere!” The workers pulling down the sign turn to look at us, prompting him to grab my wrist and all but drag me up the stairs so we can have privacy, which is a huge mistake. When he enters my flat and sees everything stacked in partially filled boxes, the hurt is written all over his face.

I could have played it off before. I had planned to tell him I was prepping for the end of the month, but him seeing Leo and knowing Leo is moving on to Fly High is all he needs to draw the conclusion.

He stares at me, a plethora of emotions flickering through those brown eyes of his and every single one of them—hurt, disappointment, disbelief—is paralyzing. “Were you going to tell me, Em? Or were you going to leave in the middle of the night because you were too scared to face me?”

“I told you I was going to tell you tonight.” I take a step toward him. “It isn’t what you’re thinking, Grant.”

“It isn’t? What exactly am I thinking, then?”

“I’m a restless soul. Blue Skies was my chance to settle, and now it’s gone. The new owner hasn’t said boo, and for all I know, they’re going to raze the place. They’ve already cleaned out the hangar. It’s written on the wall, my days here are limited.”

“You don’t know what the new owners are going to do. They’re already starting to make changes, taking the sign down, what have you. You have a month left on your rent, why not stay here and see what happens first?”

“In theory, it sounds good. But everything sounds good in theory. If it is a new flight school, that takes time to set up. Certifications, insurance . . . I can’t wait around for six months to see if I can start my life again,” I murmur, as if speaking the words softly will make them hurt him less.

“What about me, Emerson? What about us?” The way he says it—the hurt emanating off every word—makes it hard for me to think.

“We’ll make it work. It’s only temporary. Hopefully, this will be a flight school and I can come back and figure out a new dream to chase, but in the meantime, it’s only two hours away. There are days off and phone calls and FaceTime. We’ll make it work.” I’m pretty much begging for him to believe me, but the look on his face says he’s not convinced.

“It isn’t the same, and you know it.”

“I know, but it’s doable.”

“What if I told you that you’re not going? That I’m not going to let you go.”

Every part of me surges with his words, already knowing he wants me to stay but still needing to hear it. I chuckle. “Then I’d tell you that you know me well enough to know the quickest way to get me to do something is to tell me I can’t.”

“Is it that hard for you to need someone, Em? Is it that hard for you to need me?”

“No.” I’m just so conditioned not to need anything from anyone that my heart twists at the lie buried under all the truth in that one word.

“Then need me, damn it. Use me.” I watch the hurt manifest itself to anger. “Stay at my house. Live with me while we figure this out. Do anything but run away because running away is the chicken shit way to deal with this situation.”

There’s the second time in ten minutes I’ve been called that.

“I’m not running, Grant.”

“You sure about that?” His eyes bore into mine as everything about him screams defeat.

“I’m sure.”

“Good, then you won’t mind if I do this,” he says as he steps forward and, before I can even process what he’s doing, slaps a handcuff on my wrist and the other on his. “See? It’s that simple. You’re not going.”

And just as quickly as my heart breaks, my temper fires. “Are you kidding me? What are you doing?”