I don't say anything. It's not possible when I'm pressing my lips together fighting emotions I know he can clearly see. I can't bring myself to utter the words.

My lungs are straining for air, my chest taut with what feels like skin being stretched.

Stepping around him, I walk through the French doors to the patio to where we were sitting earlier in the night. I pick up the glass I was drinking from and toss the rest of the contents back, then I refill it. It burns good going down my throat. Hurts a little, but I like that bite, feeling like I deserve it.

The wood creaks under James's footsteps. Instinctively, I refill his glass then reach out to my side to hand it to him blindly.

He takes it and stands next to me. We're staring at the slow wake of black waves brushing up against our private bungalow together. Unspoken words remain floating between us that thicken the salty air.

Pressing the glass to the center of my chest, my voice is flat as I say, "We don't need a label to make it official, James. Look where your marriage got you. Look where it got my parents. Even my grammy lost my grandpa. They waited until he left the Naval Academy to get married, only for him to pass away a few years later. The only people I know who were married—including you—and look how it ended for them, for you. I only have you and Natalie in my life. I don't want to chance losing you guys too. That’s what I feel like comes from having that dumb paper. You're my family," I add, my voice breaking a little.

James lifts the glass to his mouth and tosses back what is equivalent to three shots like it's nothing. His throat bobs once. He's not handling this well.

He hands me the glass and I place it down next to mine. "I never intended to marry Kathleen, and you know that. I never loved her the way I love you. This is different. I thought you knew that."

I wish I could cave, but the way I see it, I’m doing us a favor.

"We don't need a piece of paper to dictate our relationship."

Ten

James turns toward me.

Eyes illuminated by the soft lights on the deck, James takes my hands in his and lifts them to his mouth. He kisses the back of my knuckles and rubs the center of my palm with his thumb. The fine lines around his eyes are tight with worry. He makes me feel like this is a deal breaker for him.

Licking my lips, I swallow hard. I pray to God it’s not. I don't think I could handle it. In fact, I know I couldn't. Just the mere thought makes my stomach knot with dread. I wouldn't survive it a second time. I barely did the first time.

My heart does this odd little flip and my eyes widen from the way it dips into my stomach. I hate the way it only happens when anxiety is consuming me the way it is right now. It's worst when my stomach and heart join forces to produce a nasty panic attack I have to talk myself down from.