Page 37 of I Saw Her First

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Page 37 of I Saw Her First

Until I lost them all.

Tears prick my eyes and I blink them away, looking out at the field of daisies, their cheerful yellow centers reaching toward the sun. I can hear the ocean rolling into shore beyond the dunes, feel the heat of the sun on my skin. The sky feels so expansive and wide above us, and somehow, I know that the Walkers are with me.

“They died in a car accident,” I say quietly, gripping the daisies tighter in my hand. “All three of them. Black ice. Semi truck. Head-on collision. You know how it goes.”

“Oh, God, Daisy,” Wes whispers.

“And then my parents,” I continue, my voice shaking, “they said—” A shallow breath shudders through me as I try to rein in the anger bubbling through my veins. “They said it was for the best, and that I needed to get over it. They took my camera away, said it was making me hold on to them, distracting me from real life. Then they told me they wouldn’t pay for college unless I studied something ‘sensible.’” I blow out my breath, realizing I’m crushing the daisies in my hand, and loosen my grip. “So I left. I left home and moved to the city the minute I finished high school. I cut off contact with them and changed my name. I didn’t want to lose who I’d been around the Walkers, even though I’d lost them.”

But staring down at the crumpled daisies in my hand, I realize I lost that anyway. I might have changed my name andmoved to the city, I might have tried to keep smiling through it all, but I haven’t picked up a camera since.

Not until I saw that Nikon on Wes’s shelf and found it in my hands before I could stop myself.

My chest hollows at the realization. I lost my friend and the parents I should have had, and I lost myself, too. The feeling is so overwhelming, so painful, that I instinctively push it away, tossing the daisies back into the grass and forcing a smile onto my mouth.

“Anyway—”

“Daisy,” Wes says quietly. He sets the camera down on the backpack and, without hesitating, tugs me into his arms. It’s so unexpected that I stiffen, unsure, before melting against the solid warmth of him. The tears that threatened earlier spring to my eyes, spilling over my cheeks and soaking his T-shirt.

I forget everything about Wes and Jess and the history between us. All I can focus on is the way someone holds me as pain courses through my body. The way I feel seen. The comfort of being in Wes’s arms, finally letting myself feel the ache I’ve ignored for so long.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t have anyone to be there with you as you grieved,” Wes murmurs. “I know how painful that is.”

I draw away, gazing up at him. His eyes shine with emotion, and a fist wraps around my heart.

“Jess moved out the day after Lydia’s funeral.”

The fist squeezes, hard. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I raise a hand to his cheek, gently stroking the scruff on his jaw, needing to give him something from me so he can know I understand. So he can know how much I care.

“I’m so sorry, Wes.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the silvery stubble on his neck. His lips part and my gaze falls to them, watching as his breathing becomes uneven. All I want to do isstep up onto my toes and press my mouth to his, to take away his pain, but I know I can’t.

He knows that too. His arms fall from my sides, my hand drops, and we step apart. Wes stares at me for what feels like an eternity, then turns to the backpack and picks up the Nikon. I take the chance to wipe my cheeks and suck in a deep breath, letting the wave of emotion pass. When I finally feel steady again, Wes holds out the camera.

“Here,” he says, his expression gentle.

I hesitate, then reach for it, its curves and edges as familiar as my own hand. He doesn’t press me, just gives an encouraging smile, then wanders off to leave me to it.

I think of what he said the other night—that I’d feel better for shooting again—and know in my heart that he’s right. My pulse ramps up as I lift the camera, letting my eye adjust to the viewfinder. My line-of-sight lands on Wes, standing at the edge of the meadow, gazing up at a large red maple tree. He’s lit perfectly by the sun, the contours of his biceps and shoulders highlighted in his T-shirt as he raises a hand to shield his eyes from the bright light. There’s something different about him today, but I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.

I take a second to adjust the depth of field, bringing him more sharply into focus and letting the background of trees blur slightly, then I change the aperture to suit the brightly lit setting. With a deep inhale to steady my whipping pulse, I press the shutter. The click echoes through my head as the camera captures the scene, and something in my chest eases.

I’ve missed that sound.

I press my eyes shut, meeting the onslaught of emotions head-on. The grief, the joy, the relief, the bittersweetness of it all.

When I open them again, Wes gazes at me with a smile that makes warmth pour through me from head to toe. It’s not smug or self-satisfied; it’s true, genuine happiness, forme, for whatI’m experiencing. It’s a smile I haven’t seen anyone wear since the Walkers, and on instinct I raise the camera and press the shutter again, capturing it. I want to look at it every day and remind myself that I deserve to feel good, too.

Weston wades through the meadow toward me, beaming. I laugh, snapping another picture of him, and he laughs too. Then he does something so unexpected it takes my breath away. He picks me up by the waist and twirls me around in the daisies.

“I knew you could do it!” he cheers.

I giggle as he spins me, the sky and meadow little more than a blur. His touch, the beauty of our surroundings, the relief I feel from holding a camera again, all coalesce into a high more potent than anything I’ve felt before. As Wes spins me, a wide grin splitting his face, I close my eyes and savor the feeling, wishing the moment would never end.

This is what it’s like to feel, I remind myself.And it’s so good.

But the moment does end, and Wes sets me back on my feet. I’m breathless and giddy, steadying myself on his arm, smiling so hard my face hurts. It’s the simplest thing, taking a photo, and yet it feels monumental.