is fighting or talking about what happened last night. No one has tried anything with me, and it feels so comfortable and fun, I hate my heart for loving every second.
I’m still leaving as soon as we get back to Del Rey.
During our second round of drinks, Ellis’s phone buzzes on the table, and he excuses himself to take the call. Almost as if he was waiting for him to leave, Nash takes the opportunity with us alone to lean in and reach for my hand.
“Don’t leave,” he says, and I see the restraint in his expression. He’s trying to be civil when he wants to be abrasive.
“Nash, I have to. I didn’t come out here to stay forever. I have a life to get back to.”
“A life you were miserable in. You’re happy out here.” I give him a pointed glare with a head tilt, and he adds, “When I’m not being a complete asshole.”
“I still need to get back,” I argue.
“Then come back next weekend.”
“For what?” I ask, running my thumb over his knuckles before trying to pull my hand away.
“For me, Hanna.” He snatches my hand before I can hide it in my lap. With every touch, I feel myself crumbling. I’m helpless to him, but I have to keep my head about me. There is no future for the two of us.
“Nash…”
He cuts me off, so eager, and almost desperate. “I’m sorry I brushed these feelings aside for the past three years, but I love having you here, Hanna. I love having you with me.”
“No, this cannot happen. We would be terrible together.”
Please don’t beg me, Nash. I’m so afraid one little plea and I’ll be useless against my own defenses.
“No, we wouldn’t. Last night was amazing.”
I let out a sigh, resting my face in my hands. “Yes, it was, but Nash, we are both too volatile to make it work. Yes, when it’s good, it’s very good. But when it’s bad…”
“I’ll be better,” he begs. “I’m trying to work on that.”
My eyes dance around the patio looking for Ellis. He can’t hear this. I don’t know why, but I hate the idea of him hearing us talk about a relationship.
“Are you looking for him? Is it him? You’re choosing him, aren’t you?”
I can see the erratic way he’s working himself up, and I put up a hand to stop him. Lowering my voice, I glare at him. “I’m not choosing him, Nash.”
“Then, why can’t you give me a chance?”
“Because there’s something going on between the two of you, and I can’t be with either of you until you work it out.”
His face pales, his eyes widening as he leans back. “Hanna, there’s nothing. I’m not…” He lowers his head, whispering to keep our conversation private even though I’m sure the tables around us can hear every word. “I’m not gay.”
I scoff. I hate that I do that, but I can’t help it. Nash lives in denial, about himself, about us, about the future. For once, I wish he’d let go of everything he’s holding so tightly, wearing everything like armor. There are brief, beautiful moments when he looks at me and it’s the real Nash, and he’s gorgeous, open, vulnerable and real. But then just like that, he throws up the armor and he’s gone.
“What exactly did I walk in on the other day then? What happened in Amsterdam?”
“He told you about that?”
“No,” I reply, trying to hold back the harshness in my tone. “But I’m not stupid or blind, Nash. And you’re not either because all day long while you were looking at me, he was looking at you.”
The table falls silent, and I watch the Adam’s apple in his throat bob as he swallows. The cold look of shock on his face is frozen in place as Ellis returns. He can sense the tension immediately, and when Nash turns his eyes toward him, I’m afraid he’s going to make a scene now, but he doesn’t.
Instead, his gaze shifts to the horizon, and I turn to see what he’s squinting at. Just off in the distance, there is a cluster of dark clouds spreading like ink over the bright blue sky.
“Looks like a storm rolling in. We better head back now before we get stuck in it.”
It feels appropriate to how I feel right now, except I’m afraid the storm is here, and we’re already stuck in it.
17
We are not beating the storm. Just as Del Rey appears on the horizon, the rain starts.