“Instead of making peace with yourself,” I say, my hands trembling, “you’re ignoring what happened, ignoring the pain, the guilt you feel, and using me to forget about it—Luke, you have to face this.” I lower my eyes, sniffling back the tears. “And I wish I could help you—I want that more than anything—but I can’t do for you what you have to do for yourself, all on your own.” I just hope he understands.
He looks away.
Finally I say, “I think it’s best we just go our separate ways.” I swallow down my tears—it’s so hard to say these things without breaking down in a weeping mess. Because I don’t want to say them—I want to be with him.
His face falls, the sudden surge of determination becoming devastation in an instant.
Then suddenly he rounds his chin as if to gather himself, and his expression shifts to something more casual, but to me it feels like denial. He nods a few times, licking the dryness from his lips.
Then he looks me in the eyes, takes a deep breath, and says, “I’ll prove it to you then. After Norway, I’m not jumping anymore. I will give it up for you. And I’ll wait for you, Sienna.”
Shaking my head, I take a step to the side and away from him; his hands slide away from my elbows.
“I told you … it can’t be like that.” I stop with my back to him, my arms crossed tight over my chest. I can’t look at anything but the floor. And I treat this as if his answer were true, that he’s jumping for the right reasons—there’s no other way I can treat it at this point. “This is your life, Luke. It was your life long before you met me.” I turn to face him. “I’m not going to take you away from your life, from your friends, your passions. I won’t be the cause of that.”
“Norway will be my last jump,” he repeats, growing more desperate, more hurt. Then he steps up to me again, cupping my cheeks within his large hands. “I’ll leave you alone and I’ll wait for you to come to me. I’ll let it be your choice to come back to me, but if you do, if you decide a year from now that you want to be in my life, you’ll see that I’m still here and I was yours the whole time we were apart.”
Tears tumble down my cheeks, my lips quiver, and my hands tremble down at my sides.
He presses his warm lips against my forehead.
“I don’t know what else to say other than I’ll wait for you.”
I want to fall into his arms, but I don’t.
I want to throw my beliefs and my code out the window and embrace consequence. I want to forget about what my conscience is telling me and listen only to my heart.
We ride to the airport mostly in silence. We don’t talk about Landon or Norway or our very different lives or what could’ve been. Seems we laid that to rest before we left his house. On the outside, at least. On the inside, I know it’s an entirely different feeling. My heart hurts. My stomach is twisted in knots. Tears burn the backs of my eyes constantly. And the more I think about leaving him, about never seeing him again and going back to my stressful, unfulfilling life in San Diego, the more I want to suck it up, strap a pack to my back, and jump into the sky just to be with him.
This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do: letting him go. But there’s something much darker looming in my heart and it grows tremendously the closer we get to the airport.
A part of me knows deep down that he’s going to die in Norway. It’s just a feeling. Maybe I’m just being fearful and paranoid, but I can’t shake the terrible feeling.
He’s going to die …
“Sienna?”
I snap back into the moment.
He’s standing in front of me with my elbows in his hands, that beautiful smile and those warm hazel eyes looking in at me, breaking my heart into a thousand pieces.
“I’m glad I met you,” he says and his lips move against my forehead.
“Me too.” It’s all I can say—I feel like if I try to say too much at one time I’ll burst into tears.
“Remember what you promised me back on that beach,” he says, smiling.
I nod slowly and smile back at him.
“My photography,” I say. “I promise.”