He closes his eyes as his hand fists in my blankets, knuckles whitening with the strain. The weight of all the words he gave me, sparse and carefully chosen as they were, crash into me. I knew he cared, but it's the realization of its depth I hadn't fully understood until now. The tremble in his fingers against my bedsheets and how he can't meet my gaze now are confession enough.
"London…" I reach for his cheek, and the tension in his jaw loosens. I lean my head against his. "I'm sorry. I won't push."
His head subtly shakes as his hand covers mine. "You have nothing to be sorry for."
"I overthink everything and—" His eyes pierce mine straight through to my soul as his thumb brushes over my bottom lip.
"Never apologize for how you feel, especially if I'm the one that made you feel it."
With our foreheads pressed together, his eyes slowly search for an objection. They wait. They're patient, taking their time to allow for second thoughts, but with our lips mere inches apart, he finally makes a move, obliterating the madness that separates us and crushing his mouth to mine. The move is fast, like he made it before he could talk himself out of it, but the kiss is anything but. His lips take their time parting mine as his hand delicately slides down my jaw to my neck, sending a trail of goosebumps down my spine.
My head swims, but it is the muffled groan that escapes his throat the second his tongue dips into my mouth that has me drowning. I don't care what kind of storm London Hale is; I could dance in his rain or cry its downpour. The second he walked into my life, he struck like lightning, fast without warning, scorching the earth and leaving its mark. This might be our first kiss, and you never know which one will be your last, but I know this one will forever be burned on my heart. I never want it to end. I could be happy just like this for the rest of my days. Maybe it's all just a crush, one that would eventually fizzle out if I let it, but he's not just my favorite daydream. He's someone I can't stop thinking about. No matter how hard I've tried, I always come back to him.
My hand reaches for his chest, and the second it does, I wish I hadn't because he pulls away. "I have to go." He gets to his feet.
I reach for my swollen lips, and my cheeks tinge. "You didn't like it?"
He runs his hands through his wild hair. "What? No. Laney, you have no idea how long I've wanted to kiss you like that, but I can't stay."
His words from earlier seep back in. "Because I almost died."
"Yeah." His hands fall to his hips.
"Isn't that more reason to stay? Life is too short. You never know when your chance might be taken from you."
"That's one way of looking at it; the other is I don't want tofuck this up. You're too important to me, and I'm a mess right now. You deserve the world and everything you want, and if any part of that is still me, I want it to be real. Not because I saved you, not because we were strung out on the adrenaline from everything that happened tonight."
"So, tomorrow, when I want to kiss you again…" I pull on the strings of his hoodie. "You'll let me?"
Tongue in cheek, he drops his head. "You're making my choice to walk out of this room feel like punishment, heartbreaker." I want to saygood, but I don't. He kissed me. We kissed, and he liked it. For tonight, that memory will be enough. "Come on." He nods toward my pillows. "Lie down. I don't want you walking around on this knee tonight. It's late. Get some rest." He pulls back my covers, and I lift a few inches to get on the other side and crawl beneath. Once I'm settled, he pulls my hand to his soft lips and kisses the back of my hand.
"For the record, when I ask for a kiss tomorrow, that's not where I want it."
He pinches his lips together to stifle the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, but he can't hide the slow smolder in his eyes. "Tomorrow, then," he says before releasing my hand and shutting off the light.
I don't bother mentioning it's already tomorrow, but the few short hours that stretch between now and dawn will most certainly be a small eternity, because there will be no sleeping tonight. All there will be is counting down the minutes and seconds before I get to be his again.
Why hasn'the texted me back?I ask myself as I flip my phone over in my lap for the hundredth time this morning.
I texted London hours ago, letting him know I went to the ER. Of course, the second my nurse mother saw my knee, she was unwrapping it for herself, and the second she found out a nail wasinvolved, we were en route to the hospital. Apparently, I needed a tetanus shot and an x-ray to ensure no small pieces were embedded in my knee. I knew there were no fragments in my knee, and I think she did too, but my mother has always been over the top when it comes to my health. I've always thought it was because of her career. Being a nurse, she sees a lot of worst-case scenarios, but the older I get, I see it differently. Now I know it's because I'm all she has. We're all each other has.
"What has gotten into you today? You've been on edge all morning," my mother asks as we drive down Main Street, finally on our way home after spending hours at the hospital.
"I'm not on edge. I just don't like hospitals the way you do," I say as I watch Mrs. Donovan place a bouquet of flowers in the front window of her shop as we pass by.
"I wouldn't say I like hospitals. It's just where I work. I do, however, enjoy helping people. I think you can at least relate to that, given you're considering going into counseling."
I roll my eyes and lay my head against the window. It's not that I don't want to talk to my mom. My mother and I get along just fine, but right now, all I really want is to get home, and that desire is so strong it leaves no space for anything else. I suppose that has left me a little edgy, but it can't be helped. I want to know how, last night, London Hale treated me like I was something special—something he couldn't live without—and now I'm being left on read. No text asking if everything is okay, no worry or concern, not even awhen will you be home?Nothing.
"For someone not on edge, you're about to bounce that good knee through my floorboard."
It's on the tip of my tongue to tell her I want to see London, but I don't, and that's not easy because I'm used to telling her everything—well, almost everything. Over the past year, I haven't brought up a few things—one being the job search I found on her computer. However, not telling her about London is different. I don't want to lie any more than I already have about last night, and telling any bit of whathappened leaves a lot to be questioned. Plus, her knowing I have a crush on the boy next door and that boy turning into my boyfriend will most definitely raise flags. I don't want her to see him as anything more than he ever was until it's a certainty, and maybe not even then, because I'm sure he'd be banned from entering my room the second he went from friend to boyfriend.
"It's Sunday. I feel like I just wasted half my weekend, is all."
"Did you forget you're on summer break?"
Because the Mustangs went to state, their season ran until the end of school. The party last night almost felt like another day of walking down the hallways with familiar faces and social anxiety, which for me was only piled on by Riley's confrontation and my epic fall. The slightest bit of tension releases as the knowledge of having twelve weeks before I have to face anyone from school settles in.
