Page 390 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Thanks. You know I appreciate the offer, but then what? Where do I work? I’m not qualified to do anything other than jump. Sure, I could try, but being chained to a desk . . . not having that rush? It would kill me.”

“Then maybe you do something else for a bit—help me with Doggy Style—and wait to see what happens out here with whoever bought this place. They might need help. It might not be jumping, but at least you’d be where you’re comfortable.”

“I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Pride doesn’t pay the bills, Em.”

“Neither does killing your spirit.

“The offer still stands.”

“Thanks. It’s generous of you, but how long can I hang on? It’s as if I’ve spent all this time dreaming of making this place my own, and now that I have the idea, I don’t want to settle. I shouldn’t have to settle.”

“Have you told him?” Desi says, lifting her chin to Grant’s car, which is heading down the highway toward us.

“Told him what?”

“That you love him? That you’re leaving? Either or.”

Tears spring in my eyes at just her words. “No to both,” I whisper.

“I figured as much. You want to tell me why not?”

I shrug, my mental turmoil over the past few days returning. “He’s been super busy. Doing all kinds of stuff for the chief to make amends for his suspension.”

“Ah, so the truth comes out. You haven’t been hanging out with me because I’m your first pick, but rather because you don’t have him to hang out with. I don’t do well being sloppy seconds.” She laughs, and I know this is her way of trying to add levity, but I don’t smile. “So he’s been so busy you couldn’t tell him you were going to leave? That sounds more like chicken shit to me than anything.”

“I’m scared to,” I say as his cruiser pulls into the parking lot. I know we still have time to talk because he usually has paperwork to finish before clocking off shift.

“Why? Because once you say it, you can’t take it back? Or is it because once you tell him you’re planning to leave, he’s going to lose his ever-loving mind? My bet is you’re avoiding telling him you love him but you aren’t in love with him enough to stick around to save yourself from that hurt?” She purses her lips and gives me an I-don’t-believe-a-word-you’re-saying look. “Self-preservation.”

“It isn’t like I’m not going to try to make it work. I’ll drive back on weekends—”

“Which are the busiest days for jumps.”

“I’ll make my off days match his so we can be together.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Desi, I love him, damn it. I want to make this work. I’m doing the best I fricking can, so stop the guilt trip, will you?”

She smiles. “I know you do. I also know you run when you’re scared. You put the pedal to the metal and race the wind and follow wherever it takes you . . . but I’m calling you on it this time. I’m holding you accountable. I’m not letting you leave us without knowing the exact day you are coming back . . . and it better be less than seven.”

“It’s only temporary.”

She stands, saying, “It better be,” before walking down the stairs without looking back and stopping when she reaches Grant in the parking lot. She laughs about something, and there’s an easiness between them—my lover and my best friend—that tells me I’ve built something here. A family. A place I belong. Every part of me wishes things didn’t have to change.

I watch the crane lift the old sign, its beeping filling the air as it swings it to the far side of the building, and I hate it. Everything about it.

As Grant heads in my direction, I make my way down the stairs.

“Are you ready for date night?” he asks as he closes the distance. “I just have to change real quick and I’ll be—what’s that?” he asks as he notices the storage containers stacked at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hi.” I pull him toward me and kiss him hello with an unexpected desperation that suddenly feels so real.

I don’t want to lose him.

I don’t want to lose this feeling.