Page 56 of Don't Leave Me Behind
For now.
She’s going to leave me again.The thought makes my gut churn. We’ve kissed. That’s all. I shouldn’t expect anything more from her, but for some reason, this feels like more. Leni Kane isn’t the kind of person you can work out of yoursystem. Hell, I’ve been trying to avoid this for ten fucking years, and look at me, tucked in around her like she belongs here. Like I have any right to keep her here and call her mine.
“I scheduled an interview in Benson for next week.”
I nod, chugging half my beer in one go as reality sets in. Leni didn’t just move on from me ten years ago. She moved on from this whole place, and until she fixes things with her family, there’s no point in asking her to stay. I need to figure out why she won’t tell them, or consider moving back. Maybe if I can figure out how to fix what I broke, I can convince her to stay. Convince her that she doesn’t have to live five hours away in order to live her own life.
“What’s the interview for?”
“A teaching position at a prep academy.”
“Huh.” I cock my head at her. She doesn’t seem enthusiastic about it. “Not your cup of tea?”
“Not really.” She picks at the breading on a pickle, peeling it back piece by piece. “I wrote something today.”
“Oh?” I rescue the pickle she’s defacing and drop it in my mouth before she can protest.
“Modern Ranch Life Magazine asked for stories. I wrote one about the ranch.”
That makes me perk up. “Can I read it?”
“What?” She looks surprised, and my heart aches for her. She’s so stuck in this mindset that no one believes in her. She has no idea how much her family has championed her successes. I thought they were like that all the time, celebrating with her. Now I wonder if they did it in the family group chat as a way to try to show her. To reach her when she wouldn’t let them in. “You actually want to read it?”
“Hell, yeah, I do. I love stories about the ranch, and if you wrote it, it has to be good.”
She rolls her eyes. “You haven’t read a single thing I’ve written.”
“Bullshit.” I push away from the table and lumber up the stairs. Searching through my bags until I find the bundle of her letters I kept from all those years ago. She’s standing at the kitchen sink when I get back, leaning against the porcelain as she watches me move toward her. “I read all of these.” I hold up the envelopes. Her eyes widen when she realizes what they were. “Multiple times, actually.”
“Clay.” She reaches for them, but I hesitate. These were all I had left of her after that night. They kept me from losing my mind while I was struggling through the panic and PTSD. They were the lifeline I needed to remind me it was worth fighting. Leni must read it in my eyes, because she tucks her hand over mine, letting me keep the letters.
“You can read it, of course, you can. They probably won’t pick it for the magazine anyway, but it felt good to write it.”
She squeezes my hand, then walks around me toward the living room. We settle on the small couch. I place the computer on my lap when she offers it.
“Leni.” My voice breaks when I finish the article, eyes meeting hers in awe. “This is really good.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, baby. It’s really fucking good. If they don’t publish this, someone else will. Holy shit.” I skim back through the document, my eyes finding the lines about her brothers continuing the legacy. About how her mom has done everything to preserve the authenticity of their buildings and way of life. She might not think she needs her family, but this article is proof that they are a huge part of her identity. The way she wrote it, there’s a longing in the words here. She’s homesick, and I wonder if she even knows it.
“It’s really fucking good, Leni girl.” I set the laptop on thecoffee table and haul her into my lap. “When do you turn it in?”
“I sent it already.” She bites her bottom lip, glancing down at me. “The deadline was tonight, so they should start going through submissions in the next couple of days.”
“I’m proud of you.” She snorts, rolling her sassy green eyes. “Listen here, brat.” I slip my hand up into her hair, squeezing a handful at the roots before I pull her face down toward mine. “I’m fucking proud of you, and you’re going to accept that fact without putting yourself down. You’re not rolling over, boohooing about your situation. You’re here, figuring out what comes next and putting yourself out there while you do that. Stop acting like no one believes in you, Eleanor. Because I do.”
Her eyes turn glossy, and that pouty bottom lip of hers trembles.
“Fuck,” I whisper, kneading the back of her head with my fingers, attempting to lessen the sting. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I?—”
Her lips slam into mine, a leg straddling me on either side. She tips my head back and kisses me deeper. Harder. Our teeth clack as she claims my mouth in aggressive, needy kisses.
My hands settle on her hips, staying in a “safe” spot as she wrecks any notion of who I thought I was and what I thought I wanted. I thought I was fine without her. I thought I wanted her to find someone else and live her life without me. Now, if she asked me to go with her, to chase whatever dream she finds for herself, I would.
“Thank you,” she breathes into my lips, pecking me once more before she pulls her face back. Her head tips down to look at my hands, a smirk pulling at her lips. “You can touch me, you know.”
“I know,” I breathe. Not sure that that’s true. Once I touch her, I won’t be able to stop. I’m already looking for any excuseto get my hands on her. If this is all she wants from me, if she’s planning on leaving without me, I’m not sure I’ll survive if I touch her more.
