Page 105 of The Time It Takes
I don’t notice Julian’s there until he’s pulling the painting out of my hands. I stare absently at the void in my palms as tears rush down my cold skin freely. He packs it away into the box and sets it on the coffee table. He takes a seat, putting a cushion in between us.
“Willow.” Julian’s voice is soft and even. “Willow, it’s okay.”
I draw my gaze upward to find him watching me intently. I know that he knows what’s going to come out of my mouth. Instead of making me say it, he does it for me because that’s the kind of person he is.
A damn good one.
His voice comes out a little croaky, giving away the emotion he’s trying to hide. “This whole time when you told me I couldn’t love you, what you meant is that you could never love me, because you weren’t finished loving him.”
That breaks me.
“I’m so sorry,” I sob, pressing my hand to my chest to try and ease the ache. “Oh God, Julian. I’m so sorry.”
Too fast, he’s there to catch me when I crumble. He rushes to my side and wraps both arms around me. “Shh,” he soothes, running his hand over my hair.
“I know,” he whispers. “I know.” He kisses the top of my head. “It’s him. It’s always been him.”
I don’t know what to say, because it’s the truth. It’s always been Oliver Grayson. Ever since we got those ridiculous tattoos on our pinkies from one of Ben’s sketchy friends. It’s been him since I learned that kissing him was a lot like running through the bottom of the ocean and breathing just fine. It was him when I was at my best, and it was still him when I was at my absolute worst. The one person I have never stopped wanting. We were inevitable and delaying it any longer will only hurt more. My heart will never stop demanding to be held by his.
Julian holds me until I stop crying. When we finally pull away from each other I realize this is the closest thing to intimacy we have ever shared other than sex. This is more real than any of that. His eyes are red-rimmed, and I notice the bags under them. I want to ask him about New York and how he’s been and everything he’s been up to, but old habits die hard. I know that him being here is good enough right now.
Not being able to help myself, I reach over and grab his hand to give him a reassuring squeeze. His eyes are cast downward, and I can tell that he’s struggling to look at me.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” I whisper, though it rolls off my tongue like a question.
He lifts one side of his mouth in a mournful smile. “We both know that was never true,” he says softly.
I shake my head and groan. “I’m the worst person ever.”
His eyebrows scrunch as he shakes his head. He stares down at our linked hands before bringing them up to his lips. “I’m sorry to break it to you, Willow, but you’re one of the best.” His eyes are distant as he runs his thumb over the skin he kissed. He swallows hard. “I know some of your story and it’s enough to know your character. I knew what we always were, and I knew how you felt about me—us. Our flame was bound to flicker out at some point.”
I inhale a long, shaky breath and place my free hand over his. “Do you know why?” I ask him and without waiting for him to answer I continue, “Because I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That you were never mine to keep, but still I kept you as long as I could. You were too good a thing to lose and I’m so sorry for being reckless with your heart. I was selfish.”
His head falls back against the couch, and he sighs. “We were both selfish in our own ways,” he admits.
I lean my temple into the cushion and stare at him. Maybe he’s right. We both took something we needed from each other—a connection we were missing inside of ourselves.
I was selfish with him because I wouldn’t allow myself to be with someone else.
“Willow?”
“Yeah?”
He lifts his head, tapping his finger gently on the gauze around my thigh. “What happened to your leg?”
I shrug. “Surfing incident.”
“Huh.” His tongue digs into his cheek as his eyes narrow. “I didn’t know you surfed.”
A weak smile cracks on my lips. “I’m pretty damn good at it too.” My face scrunches in a wince. “Used to be anyway.”
Shaking his head, he lets it fall back onto the couch again, seeming pleased about something. “I have a feeling there is so much I don’t know about you.”
I chuckle softly. “How about I tell you a story.”
