Chapter 5: I've Always Loved You
Nox's POV
I push him away.
"You're drunk."
"I'm not." His voice is steady, clear. "I know exactly what I'm doing."
He stands up, and before I can process what's happening, his left arm wraps around my waist. He's lifting me, using his body weight and that one good arm to haul me up against his chest. I let out a startled sound, my hands flying to his shoulders for balance.
"Griffin—"
"Shut up, Nox."
He's carrying me toward the bedroom. My heart is slamming against my ribs. I can feel his heartbeat right under my palm where it's pressed against his chest. Fast. Just as fast as mine.
He sets me down on the bed, then he's leaning over me, kissing me again. Deeper this time. My hands slide up his back, feeling the muscle through his hoodie, the way his body tenses and relaxes under my touch. His left hand braces beside my head while his right one, clumsy but determined, finds my waist.
"Griffin." I'm breathing hard when he moves to my neck. "Are you sure about this? I mean, I'm not like Portia or—"
He lifts his head. Looks at me with those gray eyes that have gone dark. Then he kisses me again, hard, cutting off whatever stupid thing I was about to say. His mouth moves from my lips to my jaw, down to my neck, to my collarbone. My shirt disappears. His hoodie ends up on the floor.
I see his body for the first time. He's thinner than he used to be, lean in a way that speaks to months of pain and rehabilitation. But the lines are still there. The shape of him, the strength that's left. My hand reaches out, touching his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing under my palm.
He's looking down at me. His eyes are soft and uncertain and it makes my chest ache.
"Nervous?" he asks.
"A little."
A small smile tugs at his mouth. He leans down and kisses my forehead, gentle in a way that contrasts with the heat between us.
"Me too."
Then his left hand is on my waist, and he's rolling us over so I'm on top of him, straddling his hips. I freeze, staring down at him in confusion.
"Griffin—"
His voice comes out rough, wrecked. "You said you have good balance."
My brain takes a second to catch up. Then the memory hits me. That phone call with Evan. My stupid bragging. My face goes nuclear.
"That was— I was talking about figure skating—"
He's smiling now. Actually smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he looks younger, almost like the boy I remembered from high school.
"Show me."
"Griffin Hart, you—"
His left hand slides up my thigh, slow and deliberate. His eyes lock on mine, dark and intense.
"You said you could handle yourself on top." He pauses. "Prove it."
My face is burning but I don't back down. I lean forward and kiss him, hard.
"Fine."
Later, I'm lying with my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly return to normal. His left hand is moving up and down my spine in a gentle, rhythmic pattern. The storm outside has quieted to a soft patter against the windows.
"I love you," I whisper.
The words just come out. I can't hold them back anymore.
"I've always loved you."
His hand keeps moving, tracing patterns on my back. Tender. Careful. But he doesn't say anything. The silence stretches out, filling the room, pressing against my chest until it hurts to breathe.
I close my eyes. At least I have tonight. At least for a few hours, he was mine.
I wake up when it's still dark. The rain has stopped. Griffin is asleep beside me, lying on his side with his right hand stretched out across the space where I'd been lying, like he was reaching for me.
I watch him for a moment. He looks peaceful in sleep. No pain etched into his features. No anger or bitterness. Just Griffin, quiet and still and beautiful in the dim pre-dawn light.
I need to use the bathroom. I slip out of bed carefully, trying not to wake him. As I pass the nightstand, his phone screen lights up. I'm not trying to look. I'm really not. But the notification is right there.
Harper: "Contract is finalized. NBC wants you to start next month. We did it!"
Below that: "Can't wait to celebrate with you tonight. Dinner at No. 9 Park, 8pm."
I stare at the words. My hands start shaking. Contract finalized. Starting next month. NBC. New York.
He's leaving. He already signed. He's known all along.
And last night was what? A goodbye? An impulse? Pity?
I can't breathe. The room is spinning. Everything inside me is tearing apart. I look back at the bed where Griffin is still sleeping, peaceful and unaware. Like nothing happened. Like last night didn't mean anything. Maybe to him, it didn't. Maybe it was just one night. Nothing more.
I'm shaking as I pull my clothes on. T-shirt. Jeans. Converse. Moving as quietly as possible because I can't wake him up. I can't face him. Can't ask the questions because I'm terrified of the answers.
I take one last look at him. He's still sleeping, his face soft and unguarded. No pain there. No regret. Just peace.
I grab a sticky note from my bag. I always carry them for filming notes. My hand is trembling as I write: "You'll be great on NBC. Harper is lucky. - N."
I place it on the nightstand, tucked under his phone. Then I gather my camera, my hard drives, everything that proves I was here. I open the door slowly, carefully, and slip out without making a sound. The door closes behind me with the softest click.
In the elevator, I lean against the wall. Tears are streaming down my face. In my car, I bury my face against the steering wheel and sob until my whole body is shaking, until there's nothing left inside me.
Then I start the engine and drive to the airport. I buy a ticket for the earliest flight to LA. Six fifteen. One hour to boarding. I turn off my phone and shove it deep into my bag. At the gate, I sit and stare at nothing. My mind is blank. I can't think. I can't let myself think.
They call for boarding. I get on the plane. Find my seat by the window. As we take off, I watch Boston getting smaller and smaller below me, shrinking into the distance until it disappears completely into the clouds.
Goodbye, Griffin.
Goodbye, my dream.
