“I . . .” I saw her again.

Her hand on my chest. “I’m right here. I’m in there with you.”

“I remembered something. It came back to me just now.”

I reached up and brushed some of his hair back.

It felt right, whatever happened to me. I didn’t feel half-dead anymore. I didn’t have words for it, but it was almost as if I’d been in pieces before and somehow was just put back together.

Instead of trying to explain that, I just said, “I love you.”

His eyes softened. His thumb went to my mouth and traced my lips. “I love you too.”

I nodded. “I know.”

His lips curved up. “You know?”

“You told me, but I’ve known this whole time. You’re almost obsessed with me.”

He let out a laugh. The rest of his mouth formed a full smile, but it was tender, and it was filled with love. “Really? I’m obsessed with you?”

I nodded again. “It’s easy to do. I’ve heard I’m pretty spectacular at things like climbing. I know a lot of horse tricks.”

“Horse tricks?” More laughter, but it ended on a soft sigh. His hand cupped the side of my face, and he leaned close. “Maybe the tables are turned here. Maybe you’re obsessed with me?”

“Maybe.” I was smiling. “I heard you’re hot stuff. You’re famous too.”

“I am. I’m very famous.”

“And rich.”

His laughter softened. “Yeah, but so are you.”

“I had a rich grandfather, I hear.”

“You still want to find your biological family?”

I tilted my head to the side. Did I?

“No. I have siblings who love me. They don’t care that we aren’t biological, so I won’t either.” I traced a finger down his shoulder and over his bicep to his wrist before going back up and lingering over his chest. “I trust my mom. She stayed away for a reason.” I traced small circles over him, loving how his muscles shifted under my touch. “You leave tomorrow?”

His hand went around to the back of my neck. “I leave tomorrow night.”

The angry words were spent between us. My explosion was gone. It left behind a trail of too much, but I felt an urgency push to the forefront. We had tonight and tomorrow. That was it. My eyes lifted to his, and I saw the same anguish there.

He let out a breath of air, letting his forehead fall to rest on mine gently. “You won’t come with me?”

That ripping apart feeling started in me again. I shook my head, just an inch. “I don’t know how I can.”

“You pack a bag and then get on a plane with me. That’s how you do it.”

I didn’t respond to his joke that wasn’t really a joke.

“I will die if I can’t be out here.”

He lifted his head again, and I already felt him pulling away, though that was his only movement. His body still was on top of me.

I caught his face, not letting him look away. I held it firmly and tried to implore him. “You opened something inside me, and I thank you for that. I didn’t know it was still there, but . . .” How could I explain it? No words seemed appropriate. “But I’m still not enough.”

His eyebrows pushed together. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not human enough to be with you.”

His shirt molded to his back, showing every muscle and how perfect he was.

I wanted him, but I had to let him go.

I may love him, dream of him, yearn for him, but I could never be what he needed.

Softly, I said, “You have the world at your fingertips. You can’t give it up by staying in one place.”

“And you can’t come with me.”

It’d been the problem from the beginning. He reached for my hand and laced our fingers together. “This sucks.”

I squeezed his hand back because, really, there was nothing else I could do. When he looked at me, I said, “We have tonight.”

His eyes grew hooded in the moonlight, but he nodded. “Yeah.” He slid back into the water and turned to me. Like so many other times, he fit between my legs as if he was meant to be there, and his hands found my waist. He leaned down to me, slowly sliding my shirt up and then pulling it from my body. “Tonight, then I go tomorrow.”

I wanted the lust to push away everything else, but as he made love to me that night, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

He was saying goodbye to me.

Brody

I flew the next night to New Zealand.

Gayle flew in a few days after, and she stayed with me most of the time.

I did my scenes. I had everything memorized. I was never late to set, and they didn’t need any retakes because of me.

I was professional. I was calm. I was sober. I was abstinent, and every night in my hotel, I debated leaving and going to her.

Every goddamn night.

I would sit on the edge of my bed, cradling my head in my hands and debating the pros and cons. The phone was within reach. I could call. I could make an excuse. I could get a few days off, fly back, hold her again, but I’d always have to leave.

I’d feel that sensation of having my insides scooped out every time I had to fly back.