Page 54 of My Unfinished Heart

“Because you’re leaving soon.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

I stare at him for a second. For the longest second where my lungs forget how to pull in air. I shake my head, like I can shake his words away, make them meaningless. The movement of my head hurts. “I cut my face on your tree.”

“I can see that.”

My cheek burns with the fresh scrape. I can feel it a little. Like sunlight through a tinted window. It isn’t a full-strength burn yet, and I hope the pain wears off before the whiskey does. The pain in my heart, however…that’s new, and it sucks worse.

“You want me to call Miss Beck to come pick you up?” he asks, tone sharp. “I'm sure she'd be happy to come get you.”

I close my eyes and drop my heavy head. “I’m an idiot.”

His sigh is heavy. “You’re a fucking mess.”

“Tristan, the truth is, Jayne’s not the one for me. I think you are.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. When I look at him, he appears stunned. His eyes are open wide, and his lips are parted. He’s so fucking beautiful. Can I tell him that? I might not be quite that drunk.

I do keep talking, though. “But whenever you get close, you move away, and then she called me up⁠—”

He holds up a hand to stop me. “Please shut up. Stop talking about her.”

“Why do you have to leave?” I ask.

“Because I have to. I have school,” he says, tightly. “I have a life that doesn’t stop when you pop back out of it.”

Truth hurts, right? And what else is so fucked up—I don’t know a goddamn thing about Tristan except that he’s Connor’s friend and gives good hugs to men in need.

“Maybe we don’t have to say goodbye. I mean, you’ll come back, right? To visit? And maybe I can take you out…”

“You realize I’m only humoring you right now, don’t you? This conversation is ridiculous—it’s like talking about building a snowman in August,” he says.

“It’s possible in the southern hemisphere.”

“Archer, we don’t live in Australia. You live here, and tomorrow I’ll live in Houston. A snowman is impossible either way.”

“Nothing’s impossible.”

He sighs again—this long, soft sigh that sobers me up. I blink and sit up straighter, seeing the situation the way he might be seeing it. What am I doing to him?

“It must have been scary to see me in your tree,” I say, finally getting it.

“I’ll live.”

“Will you come to Australia with me?” Okay, maybe I don’t get it, but⁠—

This moment here—the one where he hesitates—it’s the most hopeful moment of my life.

But then, of course, he dismisses me as a drunken idiot with a shake of his gorgeous head.

The fresh scrape on my cheek burns as a breeze blows over it. Unwilling to let go of hope yet, I reach out and take his hand in mine. “I’m sorry I scared you, but the thing is—I’ve never met anyone like you.”

He stares at our hands. “Sure you have. People like me are everywhere. You’ll find another one. And another. Other than how you’re acting tonight, you’re a good catch. You have a house and money. You’re…good-looking. You’ll be fine,” he adds in a whisper.

I ignore all that and say instead, “There’s no one like you. I’m convinced. And I’m so sorry about Jayne.”

He shrugs, taking his hand out of mine. “She’s a beautiful woman.”