Let's go.

Part 30 - Stay if you please

Jerry closes his eyes, leaning in to me until our foreheads touch, his arms wrapping around my waist.

I have loved him but his words have never matched his actions. His heart, hands, and mouth have said they loved me time and time again. And yet paradoxically these moments have been shadowed by words of withdrawal, whispered refusals cloaked in the guise of protection: "I can't be what you need." These words have been a constant boundary during each season of our affairs and have casted  shadows of doubt over moments of fleeting joy and true connection.

I need to know why he thinks now is not the same as before.

"Last night," I start, my voice still carrying the tremors of emotion, "you said you hated me."

"Mhmm," he murmurs, his voice vibrating softly against my hair, his hands moving to rest on my arms.

I lift my head to look into his eyes, searching for clarity. "And I saw it in your eyes at the bar...the hate."

He meets my gaze, the depth of his deep blue eyes swirling with a mix of regret and sincerity. "Yeah, I do."

He steps back, moving to sit at the kitchen table cluttered with house plans—a symbol of his future laid out before us, a future he's been hesitant to share with me in the past.

"I hate that we met so young," he murmurs, the edges of his voice are tinged with a hint of regret. He diverts his gaze towards the vast view of the ocean, but doesn't seem to focus on it, but rather as if he is searching within himself. He absentmindedly scratches at the dark hair on his chin and his leg begins to bounce under the table.

My fingers itch to touch him, to run through his hair. To crawl onto his lap and forget this conversation. But deep down, I understand that we need real answers this time. Relying on sex to smooth over our issues isn't enough.

"At first, I thought you were out of my league," He chuckles, "I figured, maybe down the line, I could win you over, after you got tired of some boring, rich husband."

I smile and cross my arms, creating a barrier against the vulnerability his words invoke. "But then?"

"Then," he continues, "you came back into my life, and everything changed. I fell for you, hard. That week together on tour was..." He shakes his head, still unable to make eye contact with me. He takes a deep breath and continues, "But my career, the fame, it was all taking off. There were... temptations everywhere. Sex, drugs, everything. I didn't want to drag you into that mess and fuck, I wanted to experience it."

I can't help but feel a sting at his words, a mix of hurt and frustration bubbling inside. "But you decided for both of us. You pushed me away."

"I know, and I regret it," he admits, looking down. "I thought I was protecting you—from the lifestyle, from me and the decisions I was making. I didn't want to hurt you."

"But then why didn't you come see me when you were back? Why didn't you reach out? Why didn't you fight to be with me when Layne stayed with me?" The question has been a weight on my heart, a missing piece in our puzzle.

"Pride," he says, the word heavy with regret. "You never returned my calls. I thought you'd moved on.  And then when I found out that Layne was at your place I..."

He looks up at me, his mouth set in a hard line, "I figured he was what you wanted all along, and it was easier to believe that than face the truth that I was the one who pushed you away."

I shake my head, the pieces finally coming together, revealing a picture of two people scared to confront their true feelings and two people greedy to experience a new life laid before them. "All this time, we could have been honest with each other, Jer."