Font Size:

Page 60 of A Not-So Holiday Paradise

I’m kneeling at her side, a desperate man praying at the altar. My hands hover over her body, and I let them rest on her upper arm. I need to touch her, even just the tiniest bit—I need to feel that her skin is still warm, that she’s still here with me. That she’s alive.

I don’t know how long I sit like that, on my knees next to her, Wes silent but present on the other end. It might be twenty minutes. It might be twenty years. In that time warp, I become an expert on Molly O’Malley’s face, because my eyes never move.

I count the freckles on her nose; twelve.

I calculate the area under the curve of her lips; pure beauty.

I make a mental list of all the places I want to kiss; every freckle. This one and this one and this one. All of them.

I watch her, and I make reckless deals with the gods of this world if only they’ll keep her safe.

And then I wait.

Eighteen

Molly

Skin.Rough. Dark. Noise. Bright. Wet. Dark.

“Molly?”

Me.

“Molly, baby. You had a seizure.”

Seizure.

Skin. Warm.

“Here’s my hand. Can you squeeze my fingers?”

Skin. Hand. Follow.

“Good girl. She squeezed, Wes. She opened her eyes but closed them again. What now?”

Him.

No.

No.

“Oh—no, what’s wrong? Molly, what’s wrong? I think she’s crying, Wes—”

“Calm down. Give her time. Her brain needs time to bounce back. Just wait.” Silence. “And dude. I need you to cut out thebabycrap. That’s mysister—”

“I’m gonna hang up now. I’ll call you in a little bit, okay? I just want to focus on her right now.”

“Ugh. All right. Just breathe and stay calm. She’ll be fine. She’s going to be weak for a bit, and she might be a little emotional, so just be prepared. Call me later. I need to go tell my parents anyway.”

Wes.

Parents.

Eyes. Hot. Wet.

“Shh, sweetheart, you’re okay.”

Him. Warm.