I'm not looking at him, but I can feel him watching me.

It's awkward and uncomfortable, so after a few seconds I look up at him.

He's still watching.

So, we stand there.

For seconds, minutes, hours... who knows.

Watching each other.

Waiting for one of us to talk first.

Then finally, he breaks.

"My friends mom is selling her car, it's in your budget. I thought I'd take you to look at it." He says this like a question.

"Okay," I say quietly.

I bring mine and Jake's overnight bags into the house and drop them just inside the front door before turning and getting into Logan's car.

"So I'll pick you up on wednesday and take you there to get it, yeah?" Logan asks.

"Thanks." I'm still quiet. I haven't said much.

He hasn't asked again.

It's awkward.

Awkwardly silent.

Then a tear falls down my cheek and I wipe it away quickly.

I turn to look at him.

"I love him, Logan," I say. Because if I can't tell Jake, then somebody needs to know.

He looks at me before turning back to the road.

"No s.h.i.t," he deadpans.

"I think we're done."

He shakes his head, still looking straight ahead. "You guys will never be done."

"He's it for me, Jake, I mean, he was it. He was my happily ever after."

"So what's the problem?"

"I can't give myself to him."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't be who I want to be with him. I can't give him everything. I'm still broken and I need to pick up the pieces of myself and put them back together. If I give myself to him, I have to be complete. I can't be half the person I want to be."

He pulls over on the side of the road and turns the car off.

Then he looks at me.

For what seems like a lifetime.

"I'm sorry, Micky," he says. I look down, because I am too. I'm so f.u.c.king sorry.

"I'm sorry, but I think you're wrong," he continues.

My eyes dart to his.

"Jake, he saw you at your worst. He was there when your life changed and your heart shattered. He was there to help you piece some of it back together. He's seen it all, Micky. He's seen you at your worst and he still fell in love with you. Like, truly, the forever kind of love with you. And I'm sorry, because I think your wrong. Maybe you don't need to be a complete person, or maybe you do. But maybe, he's it. Maybe he's the other half of you."

Chapter 48.

*Mikayla*

When we get back to the house, Jake's truck is in the driveway.

I'm fumbling to open the door and get out before the car's come to a complete stop. I rush to open the front door because I really, really need to see him. I need to tell him that I love him and that I need to be with him. Like, be with him.

"Jake!" I call out.

"In here!"

"Where?" I've stopped just inside the front door, trying to listen for where he's calling from.

"Here!"

I walk down the hall way and look in the study, he's not there, then I look into my room.

And he's there.

And the world around me goes black.

People talk about heartbreak like it's a figure of speech. But the truth is, it is physically possible. Because I feel it. I feel every single excruciating bit of pain that comes with it. And I feel like I've died.

But I haven't. I'm still breathing.

In what could have been seconds of me standing in the doorway to my room, literally felt like a f.u.c.king lifetime.

But I'm not dead. I just haven't opened my eyes. Because when I do, I'll see the one thing I never ever wanted to see.

I take two deep breaths in and out and count to ten in my head.

When I open my eyes, I see my room.

The bed has been stripped, my comforter and baby blanket are gone. Cardboard boxes splayed throughout the room, some empty, some filled with my belongings.

Jake has my dresser drawer open and he's packing one of the boxes with my clothes.

It's over.

He wants me out.

Gone.

From his house and his life.

And were done.

My legs start to give out, so I take all the energy I have left and I sit on the edge of the bed.

I don't look at him. I can't see him.

I sit there and I cry. Silent tears. My head bent. Hands gripping the side of the mattress. Shoulders slouched.

I can't face him.

I hear him pack more of my things, of my life. Everything I have left in this world, packed up in a few boxes.

And I cry.

He shuffles in and out of the room. Taking boxes and bags with him.

And I cry.

Because it's all I can do. When your heart breaks and you lose absolutely everything you have left in your life. The only thing you can do is cry.

I don't wail.

I don't sob.

I just sit in silence and let the tears fall.

Because in my mind, playing like a f.u.c.king movie, is all the regrets I've ever had.

Every moment where I should have told him. That he was it. He was my Prince Charming. My White Knight. My Happily Ever After. My every f.u.c.king thing.

Then I feel him, his presence in front of me, and I'm too s.h.i.t scared to open my eyes.

His hands are soft as they reach for mine, lifting them to place them behind his neck.

And I know what this is, this sad f.u.c.king goodbye that I can't take. So I do nothing.

But then his hands are behind my thighs and he's lifting me in the air and my grip around his neck tightens as my legs automatically go around his waist.

He's moving us, walking, one hand behind my back and the other behind my head, like I'm a f.u.c.king baby. Because I am. I'm a f.u.c.king baby and I need my Mommy and Daddy so fricken much.

I hold on to him so tightly, like I want to climb him and never ever want to let go, because I don't. Want to let go, I mean.

All of a sudden I'm laying on something soft and something warm is covering me and it feels so familiar but I can't comprehend what it is and I still don't want to open my eyes and face reality.

The next second I'm laying on my side, and he's in front of me. His arms wrapped around me so tight, it's hard to breath. But I breath through it, because I want to feel alive in this moment. The last few moments we have together, I want to remember every single piece of him. So I open my eyes and he's there.

We're in his bed.

Under my comforter.

Surrounded by boxes of my things.

He kisses away the tears that have fallen all over my wet face. Then he looks at me, really looks at me.

And then his lips are on mine, and my eyes close because the sensation is so overpowering. At first they don't move, like we're just connected there, waiting for the sparks of the touch to sizzle away. But after a few moments, he opens them slightly and our lips start moving together. Like a perfect f.u.c.king symphony. His arms are around me and my hands are gripping his shirt and then his tongue brushes against my lips and I moan in pleasure.

When our tongues touch for the first time, I see white behind my eyes. And I know it. I get it. That my mom was so fricken right about this moment.

We're holding on to each other and we're kissing, with lips and tongues and so much fricken pa.s.sion that I don't know if either of us is actually breathing.

Jake Andrews was wrong. He was so wrong. He didn't need to do this to make me his. I was his the moment he asked me to move here with him. And the moment he held my hand at the funeral. The moment he took me into his home when I had nowhere else to go. I was his the moment he held me, while I cried in the back of that ambulance. When he was my strength when I had none. I was his the moment he cleared his throat, and I looked up at him with tears in my eyes, in that tiny little hallway just outside the restrooms at that restaurant.

And I knew it, I knew it when we were at Walmart and I was fixing his tie, that was the exact second I knew, that instant, intense feeling I had, meant that I was standing in front of my forever.

We kiss for so long our lips begin to ache. When we finally pull away, we look into each other eyes.

Talking, without speaking.

But something needs to be said, because I never want to go another day without him knowing.

"Jake, I am so much more than a lot in love with you."

And then he kisses me again, but this time, it's different. This time it's less intimate and more pa.s.sionate.