I declared my love to him.
God.
What an idiotic thing to do and what an idiotic way to react.
But it’s okay. I’ll stop him.
I don’t remember giving the cabbie his address but somehow, I’m here.
I’m in front of his gray door and I’m knocking.
I realize I’ve never done that before, knock on his door I mean. Whenever I came here, to this L-shaped building with its gray railing, overlooking the highway, he was always with me.
So I think it’s going to be a little shocking when he sees me on his doorstep.
And it is.
It is shocking when a second later, Arrow opens the door and finds me – the girl who loves him.
He actually draws back an inch and I fist my hands at my sides.
I’m probably the last person he was expecting to see and yet, here I am.
Complete with my love and all.
Complete with my messy hair and freckles and chunky sweater and soccer cleats. And out-of-control pounding heart.
In my defense, I do try to control my heart and not ogle him. Which is very difficult because he doesn’t have a shirt on.
His hard muscles are on display and they’re sweaty. Also, they are panting and heaving.
I try not to look at his expanding ribs and hollowing out stomach and the way he’s frowning at me, mouth open, nostrils flaring.
Because he doesn’t need that.
He doesn’t need me to look at him with puppy dog eyes and his next words prove it. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
I try not to flinch, but I can only do so much in this moment. “I –”
“How did you get here?” he asks but then doesn’t give me the time to answer him because he pokes his head out to glance up and down the sidewalk as if to check on things.
As if just by looking he can deduce how I came to be here.
I move back slightly while he does his inspection. While his musky scent fills my nose and his chest almost grazes mine.
Because again, he doesn’t need that.
When he comes to stand straight, he warns, “Salem.”
Breaking out of my stupor, I say, “I… You’re leaving.”
At my words, his jaw tics and he asks again, “How the fuck did you get here?”
“I took a cab.”
He stares at me, immobile and frozen, his eyes dark. “Come in.”
“I don’t –”
“Just…” He sighs. “It’s cold. You’re shaking. Come inside.”
As soon as he says it in his rough, gravelly tone, I feel the first shiver roll down my spine. The first tremble of my legs, my belly.
And I realize that he’s right.
I am shaking. I have probably been shaking this whole time without my knowledge.
But it’s not the cold.
It’s him.
It’s from the sight of him, all sweaty and so familiar in his dark gray sweatpants, hanging low on his pelvis, and his bare feet. His dirty blond hair that appears dark brown right now, matted across his forehead.
I bet he was trying to kill himself again, by working out too hard.
When I still don’t move, he steps away from the door and holds it open, his biceps flexing. “Would you just get inside?”
“Right. Sorry,” I mumble, trying again to act unemotional.
Just get your shit together, Salem.
Wiping my hands down my cargo pants, I duck my head and step inside, careful, extremely careful, not to touch him.
When he shuts the door, I turn around to face him and repeat, “You’re leaving.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
His eyes go back and forth between mine for a second before he replies, “Because that was always the plan. Because I was always supposed to leave.”
Plan.
Yeah, he’s obsessed with planning.
“What about your therapist?” I ask, again all calm like.
“What about her?”
“Isn’t she supposed to have a say in when you leave?”
He stares at me for a beat. “No one has a say in when I leave.”
Right.
Not even me. Not that I ever had it but still.
He sighs again.
Although I don’t think it helps with loosening him up at all. His body, his muscles are as tight as ever. They’re almost straining from whatever is going on inside of him.
“Besides, I can find another therapist,” he says, standing tall and straight. “In LA.”
“And your team?” I swallow. “Are they fine with you coming back so soon?”
“I was always going to go back one day. So yeah.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my lips from trembling and my eyes from filling up. “But one day, right? Not right now.”
“One day. Today. Right now. What’s the difference?”
He asks the question calmly.
Very, very