The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #4)(64)

“You don’t think I feel the same way?”

“As a friend? Of course.”

“No, Anabelle, I love you—I do.”

Why is he telling me this now, after all these months? Is he trying to destroy every piece of my already breaking heart?

“You love me?” I struggle to get the words out.

“Of course I do.”

“But you’re leaving, so tell me this… what difference does it make? Go chase your dream, Elliot.”

There’s an entire lifetime ahead of us.

“Anabelle, you know I have to move. Michigan has one of the best post-grad programs for kinesiology in the country, and I’m lucky to have been accepted. You just transferred, so I can’t ask you to come with me. We practically just met.”

“I know,” I answer miserably.

He steps forward, cupping my chin in his hands. “You’re so close to graduation yourself.”

“I wish you’d stop telling me things I already know.” I try to look away, but he won’t let me.

“It sucks, but it’s for the best. You’re going to graduate, and I’m going to get my master’s, and I’ll come visit every once in a while when I can. I just don’t see how long-distance can work right now.”

“It’s fine, Elliot. You already said you weren’t ready for a relationship and I respect that. I won’t pressure you. I’m mature enough to be okay with this. So, you can leave, and go with a clear conscience.” I falter, swallowing. “We’ll both miss each other, but we’ll get over it.”

Life goes on.

“Eventually, right?” His voice wavers. Shakes.

And I swear, I’ve never seen a guy’s eyes well with tears before, but Elliot’s are welling up now. I can barely stand looking at him. It’s killing me inside. It’s killing me knowing he’s leaving, moving halfway across the country.

Knowing he’s not going to be returning when classes resume in the fall.

“Jesus, don’t you dare cry, too,” I scold, bottom lip trembling when he wraps his strong arms around me, resting his forehead on mine. “Please, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry, Ana.” His face is buried in my shoulder, in my hair, arms wrapped around me tightly. “I love you, I do, but I have to go.”

“You’re going to do amazing things, Elliot St. Charles. You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll be back for the holidays. It’s not like you’re getting rid of me forever.”

“But you’ll be old by then, maybe even have gray hair, and I’ll probably start dating Rex Gunderson and won’t remember your name.”

“I swear to fucking God, if you start dating Rex Gunderson, I will literally—”

“Literally what?”

“I don’t know, but it would crush me.”

An alarm goes off in his pocket, his cell phone chiming a gentle reminder that it’s time to leave.

He’s needed somewhere else.

“I have to go or I’ll be late meeting my parents.”

“All right.”

“Anabelle.” Elliot’s big, masculine hands take hold of my face. “I…I…”

I bow my head, wordlessly saying what my lips can’t.

I know.

Me too.

He presses his lips to mine, and I can taste the salt from our tears, his and mine.

“Just go.” I can barely get the whisper out of my throat, it’s so raw from emotion. “Get out of here.”

I give him a gentle shove toward the door and he takes a step over the threshold. Then another.

He nods, fighting back tears, but one escapes anyway and slides down his face, glistening in the sunlight.

I hate this. Hate it.

“Goodbye,” he mouths.

“Bye,” I mouth back.

Then I watch him walk away. Climb into his car, start the engine, idling.

He sits, staring at the little house we lived in together for one amazing semester—the best semester of my life—and I see him inhale a deep breath, clutching the steering wheel.

He sends me a quick wave.

I don’t know how long I stand on that porch, watching him go, but it’s long enough that his car disappears around the corner, out of sight.

Finally, I have the energy to raise my hand and wave back.

Except he’s not there anymore.

He’s gone.

“I love you.”





Elliot: Hey you—what are you up to?

Anabelle: Rearranging some IKEA furniture I just bought and put together.

Elliot: Oh yeah? Like what?

[Anabelle Donnelly sent an attachment]

Elliot: You put that shelf together yourself???

Anabelle: Why are you saying it like that?! With all those questions marks? YE OF LITTLE FAITH.

Elliot: That thing is huge!

Anabelle: I love them. My friend said white bookshelves are hard to decorate, but I’m in love with these. I need more room because my mom just sent some books I had at her house.

Elliot: Don’t get too comfortable. You’re only there for two more semesters. You’re going to have to move all that shit out.

Anabelle: That’s what dads and friends with pickup trucks are for.