Emily and River meet in Miami, where they have the time of their lives, but it isn't meant to be: the next morning, Emily leaves for San Francisco, leaving both their hearts broken. They don't think they'll ever see each other again.
Emily goes back...
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"You're doing okay," Emily said to him. "And Talia loves you. It could've been way worse for her, you know."
He stared at the patterns on the wooden surface of the table, tracing the lines with his eyes. Looking at her directly was something he seemed to be avoiding. "It could've been better, too."
Emily felt her heartbeat where their hands were touching. "Trust me," she said. Although it felt like her skin was burning where it touched his hand, she didn't want to let go just yet. "I don't know her that well, but I know you—okay, maybe not that well either, but at least a little." She started stammering. "Anyway, the point is... I know you, and I know you're doing everything you can to protect her and give her the life she deserves. And that's all she needs."
His eyes stopped tracing the lines in the wood, freezing in place, before he looked up and their eyes met. She felt a shiver down her spine when they did, the look in his eyes frightening her. They weren't bright as they had been all day, but instead showed her his soul: sad, low-spirited and desolate. She doubted whether he believed any word she said.
"River?" she asked when they had been sitting there for a while, not saying anything. He hadn't reacted to her previous comment yet, but their eyes locked. The only sounds came from other people in the restaurant, talking or shuffling while finding their way to a table.
His eyes closed and he sighed deeply. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, I know." He withdrew his hand from hers and hid it under the table. He turned his head to look outside, where the sun was hanging low and the whole sky had turned orange. Lost in a daydream, he said, "But it's not that easy."
Emily found it difficult that he suddenly avoided eye contact and wasn't an open book anymore. She wanted to talk to him because there seemed more going on than he was letting on. The problem was way bigger than the lack of trust he seemed to have in himself and the guilt he beared.
"Talk to me, then," she tried. "Let it out. Talia's not here, and she doesn't have to know about this."
He remained frozen in his seat, his shoulders tense as he continued to stare outside, not moving an inch.
"I'll leave soon," she said, but the words hurt. She didn't want to go home yet, partly because she didn't want to explain herself to her parents and partly because she didn't want to leave him. "And we'll never see each other again after that." Her tone was soft and kind; she wanted him to know that he could trust her. If there was something bothering him, it was better he let it out instead of bottling it up—and who better to do it with than a stranger? "It can't hurt talking, right?"
She noticed his jaw clenching, but he shook his head, and Emily had no idea what it meant.
"I just..." he started. "It's—" He took a deep breath and his head turned back to face her. "I can't do it by myself," he said then in a deep, quiet voice. She had trouble understanding him, but his facial expression told her enough.
