Ilooked down to her and shook my head. “I never did.”
Shescoffed, fingertips scraping over cardboard. “You’re telling me that you wouldstay by my side, even if that meant giving up everything you—” Her words cameto an abrupt halt as a certain realization dawned over her. I watched herfeatures loosen and her lips part. Her eyes softened and raised back to mine,and she shook her head. “Devin … I never—”
“Beforeyou say anything, I want you to know that I don’t regret anything I’ve done. Idon’t regret the store. I don’t regret the years I’ve spent in construction. Iregret absolutelynothing, okay? So, don’t feel guilty for how I’vespent a huge chunk of my life, because it brought me here,” I said assertively,holding her gaze with mine and meaning every single word.
“Inmy old bedroom. Yeah, that’s a really great place to be,” she said quietly,shaking her head.
“I’mwith you, aren’t I?”
Sheshrugged. “Yeah, but—”
“Yeah,well,thatis the greatest place I could ever be,” I said. I took herhands from the box and turned her body to stand parallel to mine. Brought herfingers to my neck, laid them over my skin, and reached down to rest my handson her hips. “Sometimes love is sacrifice, Kylie.”
“Butmy mom acts like she was miserable,” she said, as I pulled her into me, flushwith my body.
“Sometimeslove makes us miserable.”
“HaveI made you miserable?”
Ithought about that for a moment, looking into her eyes of blue and bluer still.I thought about my words, how I’d string them together if I were writing asong. What would bring the most impact in fewer words? But without my notebook,I couldn’t visualize them, and so all I could say was simply, “The only painI’ve ever felt is yours.”
Thatseemed to do the trick, as her lower lip tucked between her teeth and her eyesswam in their pools of tears.
“Mydad was in a lot of pain,” she said in a hushed voice.
“ThenI can imagine your mom was also,” I said. “Imagine going through so much ofyour life, feeling someone else’s pain, and then suddenly being free of it. I knowI wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with myself.”
Sheshook her head and tightened her grip on my neck. “I’d rather feel your painand be miserable than ever be without you. I won’t ever be able to move on fromthis, not from you.”
Ismiled, my throat tightening at the unexpected emotional turn the evening wastaking, and I nodded. “I think good old Edgar has a quote for that, doesn’the?”
Hereyes stared up into mine as she recited, “’Love like mine can never be gottenover.’”
Ibowed my head and touched my forehead to hers. “I’m right there with you,baby.”
Craningher neck, she grazed her lips over mine and I shuddered at the touch. I hadn’tgrown accustomed to this; kissing her whenever I wanted, touching her when Ihad the urge. Well, of course I hadn’t—I had thirteen years of longing to makeup for.
“Idon’t want you to forget you have a dream,” she whispered, her lips dancingover mine as she spoke. Her words hot on my skin. “Not for me.”
“Youaremy dream,” I said, closing my eyes to her touch, her voice. My handsslid down over her hips to grip her thighs in my palms and I lifted her up,hooking her legs around my waist.
“Don’tsay that. Don’t give up because of me,” she protested, as I walked blindly towhere her old dresser stood.The white chest of drawers,covered in stickers from pop-punk bands from her youth.
“Baby,I’ve never been more committed to anything in my entire life,” I said, slidingher onto the surface and fitting my hips between her open thighs.
“You’reinsane,” she said, shaking her head and teasing the ends of my hair withwandering fingertips, creeping up the back of my head. Pulling me down to herwaiting lips.
“’Iwas never insane, except upon occasions when my heart was touched,’” I quoted.I kissed her mouth and her hands slid to cup my face, holding me back, and Idelved into the oceanic depths of her eyes.
“Ihave a question,” she said, her eyes fixated on seeking her answers fromsomewhere dark and deep within my soul. I nodded soundlessly, unable to speak,and she asked, “How long have you spent memorizing Poe?”
Oneside of my mouth lifted into a smile, remembering the nights I’d spent, readingand pinning his lines to the walls of my memory. Allowing the words that movedher, to move me as well. Opening my heart to them, asking them to meansomething to me in the way they meant to her.
“Awhile,” I said, looking down at the alignment of our bodies, and I chuckledinappropriately in a moment that didn’t deserve laughter.
“What’sso funny?” she asked, whispering.
“Yourdresser is a perfect height. It’s like, your parents knew you’d one day be witha—”
