Page 105 of Sand in My Boots

For clarity.

For answers.

To understand how to revive my heart.

“Yeah.” If I say any more, I’ll break. The façade will crack. And it’s not fair to either of us for that to happen. Even if he does kinda deserve it for putting us in this place. “You should go. Don’t want to miss your plane.”

As if. Unless there’s a massive line at security, he’s got plenty of time.

A heavy sigh resounds throughout the car. I can’t be certain if it’s his or mine.

“Jude, I . . .”

“I know.” Whatever he was going to say, I know. Even though in reality, I don’t. I don’t have a fucking clue what he’s thinking. I can barely tame my own errant thoughts.

“Maybe I don’t deserve this, but here it comes anyway.” He pauses, collecting what he needs to get off his chest. With bated breath, I brace myself for whatever he’s going to toss my way. “I don’t know where I’m going to end up on this, but can you give me some time to process it? Is that fair of me to ask? To make you wait?”

“Fair? No, but life doesn’t work objectively.”

“Right. So . . .”

“Take the time you need. I know it’s a lot.” I won’t apologize, though. I did nothing wrong.

“Thanks.” Noise rustles, but I’m too busy staring out the window, holding back my tears, to turn around. “I can’t let you resent me. That’s my biggest fear in all of this.” His voice cracks on the word fear, but it’s still not enough to face him. Not when I lost the battle with the tears. “If I can’t get past that, I won’t risk your happiness.”

Risk my happiness? Isn’t he doing that very thing by asking for time? By not accepting the gift and moving on?

I can’t bring myself to ask those questions or say anything else.

His hand graces my thigh, fingers lightly digging in. The gesture does me in. I turn and face him.

“I want you to be happy. You warrant all the happiness.”

I dig deep for the courage to ask, “What if you’re my happy?”

His head shakes before I finish the question. “Not for long-term happiness.”

Cameron’s usually such a carefree, easygoing person. I can’t understand why he’s so negative about himself. Why he doesn’t see the good in himself, the good we could have together.

“Is that for you to decide? My happiness?” Irritation bubbles up, cutting through the tearful emotions.

“I can’t give you the life you want. The one you’re used to.”

Is he for real right now?

“Why are you jumping years down the road? What happened to our ‘live in the present’ pact?” Annoyance layers my words. I’m doing a poor job of keeping tabs on my emotions. We’re on different pages. Didn’t he ask me to wait for him? Why would I need to do that if he’s convinced we don’t have a future?

He finally looks over at me, his expression full of anguish. It’s a look he doesn’t wear often, and it definitely softens some of the hardness swimming through me.

When he doesn’t speak, I fill the space. “You’re not making any sense. You asked me to wait, to give you time to work through this, and now it sounds like you’ve already decided.”

“If you could see what’s going through my head, you’d know my mind is not made up. I’m sorry if you can’t make sense of what I’m saying. It’s because I’m having a hard time myself. It’s . . .” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “I care about you. A lot. More than anyone else. And I don’t want to hurt you or to lead you on, to make promises for something I can’t deliver down the road.”

I set the record straight. “I’m not asking for those. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, taking a few minutes to compose a response. I don’t rush him. Like so many of our recent conversations, this one has been all over the place, and I’m not sure where we go from here.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to give them to you.”