Page 82 of Any Port in a Storm

“I already told you.” The tears start again. “I can’t lose you.”

“And I already told you.” His words are laced with an intensity I’m not used to from him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I shake my head slowly. “I’m so sorry, Nick.”

He draws a ragged breath. “Stop apologizing.”

“But I feel horrible.”

“Laurel.” He drops my hand. “Just stop.”

My world screeches to a halt. “Wait…are you mad at me?”

He rolls onto his back and squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m not mad at you. But I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“We should get some sleep. We have two museums to hit tomorrow.”

My jaw drops. “How do you do that?”

I don’t elaborate, but he knows exactly what I mean. Because of course he does. “I have to shift my focus right now, or I’m pretty sure my chest is going to break in half.”

Now I squeeze my eyes shut, too. I almost apologize again, because I hate that I’m doing this. I hate myself for making him feel this way.

For making myself feel this way.

But at least the pain right now is temporary. We’ll move past this. We’ll figure it out.

But opening the door to exploring our feelings beyond friendship? Having sex? Falling in love? Because that’s what he was going to say, wasn’t it? That he thinks he loves me?

Going further down that road could ruin everything.

I roll onto my back, too. Our arms hang down at our sides, just inches away under the sheets. I can still feel the heat from his body, but it’s different now—a melancholy ache that overwhelms my senses completely.

It’s a depression I haven’t felt since my freshman year of college. A well of grief so deep it kept me in my bed, subsisting on carbs and caffeine, while the world moved on all around me. It’s a feeling I promised myself I’d never suffer again.

Nick and I didn’t even sleep together. We aren’t a couple. We didn’t break up. Hell, he didn’t even finish confessing his feelings.

How can this alone mess me up so badly?

Thank god I didn’t let it go further. If I already feel this broken inside, when nothing even happened, how much worse could it get if we tried?

I always suspected Nick could destroy me entirely, but now I know it’s true. And it’s the kind of destruction I’m not sure I could ever come back from.

TWENTY-THREE

now

Itoss and turn for most of the night, unable to turn off my brain. Thoughts of teaching in far-flung cities and tigers and Nick’s lips on mine keep me spiraling, all to the soundtrack of his “enjoying you” in a delicious Irish accent.

I finally fall into a fitful sleep at four in the morning, and I don’t wake up until a bright light hits me, square in the face. With all the overthinking I’d been doing last night, I must have forgotten to shut the shades.

And set an alarm, I realize with a start.

“Shit!” I check my phone and realize it’s 10:15. My first lecture starts in ten minutes, and I’m not even done preparing my notes.

I roll out of bed and rush headlong toward the bathroom, figuring I can do a quick brush of my hair and get dressed, then hopefully grab a cup of coffee before I have to log on.