“Damn it,” I whispered as I brought her shoulders to my chest, and she let me hold her as she cried. Resting my chin on top of her head, I breathed in the sweet smell of lilies for what I was certain would be the last time.
She silently cried for a few moments while I tried to string together a few coherent words. I didn’t mean to make her cry. I’d never seen her cry like that before and knew I never wanted to again.
“Look,” I whispered before clearing my throat. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Savannah. If you want to forget about all of this, we can. We can continue the tour and play together, and be friends. I’d like to be friends with you if we can’t be more. I have to be friends with you if we can’t be anything more …” I trailed off, tears pricking my eyes, feeling the weight of what it would be like if Savannah Marshall vanished from my life, again.
She shook her head, as her forehead remained pressed against my chest. “I don’t want to forget about it. I can’t forget about it. I don’t … I don’t want to be friends with you, Gregory.”
“Oh …”
Savannah lifted her head then and looked at me through a beautiful mess of tears. I was captured in her gaze, waiting for her to speak, praying she wouldn’t leave. Not being able to blame her if she did. She slid her hands up the sides of my arms and across my shoulders, moving up my neck until they rested on each side of my face. Slowly gliding her thumbs across my cheeks as she steadied her breathing.
Carefully exhaling through her rose colored lips, she finally spoke. “I’m in love with you, Gregory.” She smiled through still falling tears and I was at a loss on how to interpret her emotions.
“I’m in love with you, too, Savannah,” I whispered.
“But,” she continued, “I don’t want you to say it anymore. I don’t want us to say it to each other anymore. It will make me want more than I know we can have.”
“Savannah ...”
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she sniffed. “Please, Gregory. You’re already asking a lot of me. I need you to grant this. I know you love me ... but I can’t hear you say it.”
With a heavy sigh, I nodded once. “Okay.”
“I didn’t sleep much last night, you know.”
I chuckled nervously. “I didn’t either.”
“I’m afraid it’ll break my heart, and yours, if I say no. But … I’m afraid you’ll think less of me if I say yes.”
I frowned, shaking my head in confusion. “Why would I think less of you?” I asked, bringing my hands to her face and tracing my thumb across her bottom lip.
“Willingly entering into a relationship with a married man is not a place I ever thought I’d find myself.” She looked down again, shame sweeping over her face.
Jesus. In my own desire to have her in my arms, and in my bed, and in my heart, I hadn’t considered what asking her might do to her sense of self. What it might do to her spirit—the very thing I fell in love with.
“No, I don’t want you to feel bad about that,” she entered, seeming to interpret the look on my face. “That’s … my stuff. I could calmly get up and walk out of this room and smile and see you on stage every day.”
I nodded. “You could.”
“But then, no matter what else happened in the rest of our lives, I might look back on this moment and kick myself for not taking a chance with you. Even if our time is limited.” Her voice trembled slightly over the last part, and it sank my stomach.
“I don’t want there to be any limits with you. I just don’t know …” I shook my head and looked away, internally at war with my own moral code.
“I know things are complicated with Karin. And, given the last few days I’ve had, I’m in no position to judge anyone anymore.”
She gently grabbed my chin between her thumb and index finger, turning my face toward hers. “I’m saying yes.”
I wanted to gasp, shocked by her answer. Three simple letters that changed everything. But, I couldn’t breathe.
She said yes.
“You’re saying yes,” I whispered, unable to keep the shocked smile off my face.
She nodded. “I know we have a lot of details to work out, like how we’re going to handle this without everyone finding out and it turning into a thing.” Sometimes, when she rambled, her hands would wave in the air. It was adorable. “But … I’d rather have a few stolen moments with you over a short time than to live a lifetime wondering what it would have been like had I said yes, but chose to walk away instead.”
Shaking with an intoxicating mix of nerves and relief, I pulled Savannah into a deep kiss. As her hands ran up the back of my neck and through my hair, I let out a small moan of gratitude.
She said yes.
Gregory
Denver was unseasonably cool for July. In Colorado Springs I suffered from allergies. I don’t remember what excuses I used in Fort Collins, or Casper, or Billings or Bozeman. But as we moved further west, mostly by bus and train, I continued to find myself giving excuses for long disappearances into my hotel room, excuses to not attend dinners, go out for drinks or any other social activities that came along with a tour of this nature.
Of course, given my reputation, hardly anyone blinked. Ironic. I’d spent my adult life pushing people away, keeping them at arms’ length, never touching, or reaching out. Now all I could do, all I wanted to do, was touch.
At our stop in Fort Collins, we made love three times before finally collapsing into an exhausted, tangled sleep. When I woke in the morning, she was splayed across me, legs tangled around mine, her hair across my chest. I opened my eyes and watched her. She was … beautiful. Amazing. Mine. In her sleep, she looked so peaceful.
And then her eyes opened. She locked her eyes on mine, and I watched as her pupils slightly dilated. Her mouth opened, just a little, into a tiny smile.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Good morning,” I replied.
Then we didn’t speak.