I’m not sure the human heart is built to be so capable. How can it handle the joy of finally loving someone, the ecstasy of finally receiving love, while still being so fearful of the pain that’s yet to come?

Because that pain is coming.

How much longer can we ignore it?

“Stay with me,” I whisper to her as I thrust in deep.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says breathlessly, neck arched, head back. Such a bloody goddess.

But that’s not what I mean.

It doesn’t take me long to come and when I do, our eyes are locked and I feel myself slipping more and more and more. Into the past. Into the future. I’m losing myself completely and I just don’t know which way I’ll end up, if I’ll even be whole in the end.

I rest my weight on my elbows, my head down against the pillow while she gently touches my back.

“Stay with me,” I say again, voice rough with exertion. “Don’t go home.”

She tenses up beside me, her hands stilling at my shoulders. “Don’t go home?”

“Quit your job. Move here. Be with me.”

I can’t believe I’m even saying this to her but it’s too late now. She wants all of me, she’ll have all of me.

“Lachlan,” she says warily. “I can’t just do that.”

I pull my head back to look at her. “Why not?”

She frowns. “Because! I…I worked hard for the job I have.”

“You hate your job.”

“But it’s still my job. What would I do here? I can’t get a job.”

“You can do whatever you want.”

“Yeah but that’s easy for you to say. I’ve spent my whole life working for what I have, aren’t I supposed to stick with it? It’s crazy to give that all up.”

“That’s not what’s crazy. Crazy is never branching out, crazy is never living up to your potential, never discovering what it is in life that makes your heart beat just a bit faster. Kayla, who you are and who you think you should be are two very different things.”

She looks at me pleadingly. “Then who am I?”

“You’re you, love. And you know what you want to do. Jessica said she would help you with the writing.”

“Yeah,” she says. “For free. Writing for free. How do I live until my portfolio or whatever gets big enough to even get me a job?”

“I could – ”

She pushes her finger against my mouth. “And don’t tell me that you could support me. I know you can and you would, but I wouldn’t accept it. That’s not how I’m built. I do things on my own.”

I shake my head at her stubbornness. “I could help you be employed. You could work at the shelter, like Amara.”

“Amara says that you can barely afford to pay her,” she tells me and that makes me grimace, because I know that’s true. “You couldn’t afford me, too.”

“I could,” I tell her. “My flat in London, I would sell it if I had to.”

“No, no way. No way would I let you do that for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m…you barely know me. I’m not worth it.”

I sigh, my eyes pinching shut. “Please don’t say that. Don’t say that I don’t know you when all I do is feel like I’ve known you my whole bloody life. Don’t give me that and don’t tell me you’re not worth it. That’s up to me to decide, isn’t it?”

She looks away, blinking. “I don’t want you to do anything for me.”

“Well that’s tough luck ain’t it, love, because if you want to stay with me, I will do whatever I bloody can to make sure you can stay here. So just give me the word. Give me the damn word and you can stay here for as long as you like.”

“It would be crazy,” she says quietly.

“And love makes you do crazy things. Or so they say, but I’m starting to think every fucking cliché about it is true. So just own up to it. Embrace it. Be crazy and do those things that are just a little bit nuts.”

“I…I can’t, Lachlan.”

I groan, my hands gripping the pillow. I know I’m being completely fucking selfish asking her to give up everything to stay here with me. I know it.

“If I could move to San Francisco,” I say slowly.

“No way,” she says.

“You really don’t want to be around me do you?”

She grabs my chin and makes me look at her. “Listen to me,” she says, her eyes flashing. “You’re right in that I don’t have a lot to give up at home.”

“I never said that.”

“It’s true,” she says. “I do have a job I don’t like and that I fantasize about quitting. And while I do have my friends I would miss dearly, and my family who I love more than anything…I don’t know if the fear of being away from them is enough to keep me from leaving. But in no way, shape or form are you to even consider coming to California. You have your career here, an actual god damn career, and you have your dogs and your charity and you have so many good things lined up. If anything at all, I will be the one to find a way to stay here.”

My chest aches at the possibility. “Just say the words, please. Tell me that you want to stay, that you’ll try and I promise you, I promise you, I will make it work out.”

She searches my eyes for a moment, working it all out. I can almost see the wheels turning, weighing over each option, much like she did in the car when I invited her here in the first place. That feels like a lifetime ago.

“I need to think about it,” she says. “Give me another week and I’ll know for sure.”

I rub my lips together and nod. “All right,” I tell her, kissing her on the forehead. “Thank you.”

“Now,” she says, smacking me on the ass. “Get out of bed and get to practice. It’s already going to suck that you’re hungover, I don’t want your coach calling me and complaining.”

I nod, that shame from last night creeping up my throat again like bile. I quickly get ready and head out the door in the nick of time. I have to stop at a corner store to get a bottle of Gatorade and some Ibuprofen and spend a few minutes trying to compose myself before I show up at practice.

I’m expecting for everyone to know what went down. Not that the team would really care, but Alan usually lays into us for any misconduct off of the pitch. But everyone is acting as normal, except for Thierry and John of course, who regard me with concern, and no one seems to notice my banged up knuckles or the faint bruise on my jaw from where the guy’s first – and only – punch was thrown.

That has to mean that the guy is alive and well. Still I go to Thierry during the break and pull him aside.

“Hey, thank you for last night,” I tell him quickly, looking around us, keeping my voice low.

He glares at me, shaking his head in disapproval. “You owe me one,” he says in his French accent. “The police showed up and John and I had to make a big elaborate story about how some guy came to our table wanting to fight.”

“You told them it was me?”

“No, I did not,” he says indignantly. “John gladly took the blame. He’s always looking for more street cred. You’re lucky you’re a local hero, you know that? All the witnesses blanked out, agreeing with him. Ugly fucker comes looking for trouble, John beats the shit out of him. End of story.”

I swallow, feeling sick. “How is the guy?”

He shrugs, taking a sip of water. “I don’t know, I wasn’t holding his hand. But he left the bar on his own two feet and before the police showed up, if that makes you feel any better. I think you got away with near murder on this one. What the hell were you thinking?”

I give him a sharp look. “I obviously wasn’t thinking.”

“I know, just…take it easy man. I’m sorry, I should have known better than to bring you to a bar. I thought you were doing better. You were the last time.”

“That was months ago,” I remind him. “And I’m fine,” I add quickly. “I just have a lot going on right now. It’s tripping me up.”

“The girl,” he muses.

“It’s not her fault,” I say harshly. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“But she’s what’s on your mind, what’s tripping you up. No?”

I wiggle my jaw back and forth, trying to relieve the tension. “I’m going through some things. It won’t happen again.”