Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [129]
“It’s fine.” I’m not in the mood for sex. Too much sadness, paired with the knowledge that I have countless turns ahead of me, and he won’t be there to share them, even if we manage to get our timing right. Someday.
I intend to try. He’s worth fighting for, but I won’t change who I am for any man. No more than he should alter himself to suit me.
“A kiss?” He’s asking me.
“Please.”
I have had passionate kisses and fierce ones, kisses so sweet they tasted like pure honey and kisses that cut like knives, but until this moment, I’ve never had one that said both hello and good-bye. Much as I love him, I can’t take more than the butterfly brush of his mouth, before I draw back, a tremor rocking through me. How I wish I could throw myself into his arms and stay there forever, but I must keep my word to Loras, and for me, life isn’t about where you come to rest; it’s the journey.
A deep, shuddering breath helps to restore my equilibrium. “How can love be so magnificent and still hurt this much?”
“I don’t know. Over the turns, I’ve asked myself the same thing.”
No doubt. I’m not the same woman he fell in love with, turns ago, but love is delightfully tensile—and the best kind pulls and stretches to accommodate new growth. He’s not the same man, either, but I adore him for his steadfast care and his fidelity to family. Which makes what I’m about to do even more absurd. It’s also the only course for a woman like me.
“I don’t think I can stay the night. The parting won’t be easier by daylight.”
Vel and the rest are waiting on the ship, anyway; they signaled me that they’re back from sightseeing and won’t mind taking off tonight. The sooner we leave Nicuan, the sooner we can begin on La’heng—the sooner we can liberate Loras’s people. That’s not a trivial task.
His smile flashes bittersweet humor. “At least this time I get to see you go.”
Farewell for now, my love. I say it in the silence of my head, but he hears.
For now, he replies. And don’t think I’ll go those eight turns without seeing you. I will come for you. Always.
That sounds like a promise, but one unasked. We can’t be sure what the future holds. I understand if you need to find a . . . partner. Someone to help you raise Sasha. I understand. I do, I do, even if that generous offer threatens to break me.
Tender warmth streams through me. That’s why I love you. Thank you, Jax. But in him I sense the resolve not to. Sasha doesn’t need anyone else, he thinks, and might only be unsettled. He’ll wait, like he promised. And as Sasha gets older and more secure, he’ll come to La’heng, or I can visit here. It’s not impossible, just . . . hard. But things always are with us. “Always” is a word that carries both magic and despair. I clutch it to my heart like a bladed fan.
I run then; I can’t bear anymore. Blindly, I seek the door, navigating his finely furnished living room through a field of tears. The door recognizes me and lets me out, and I weep silently in the lift, which takes me to the ground, unasked. March stays with me, and I feel his pain as well. The anguish amplifies in my head until I know he’s crying, too.
Not for me, I tell him. Don’t let Sasha see you sad. We’ll be fine. I’ll comm.
Me, too, love.
The tenuous connection breaks as I stop on the first floor. I’m too far away from him now. Too far, too far. Oh, March. Squaring my shoulders, I exit his building and walk backward until I can see his apartment. He’s still on the balcony, watching me go, as he promised. I stop and lift a hand to him, a dark silhouette against the starry sky. He puts his palm up, and I feel the heat of his touch across the distance. I am not the woman to raise a child with him, but I am the one he loves.
There will be a someday.
Then I turn and hurry toward the hover-cab stand. I am not born to be an earthbound thing. Even as I step into the cab and it lifts, so does my heart. I believe in a future where all things are possible,