Page 71 of Molt

“Stop.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t fucking do this again.”

He turns away.

I grab his hand. His four-fingered hand.

“Don’t walk away from me.”

“Let go.”

“No.”

“Lenora.”

“No.”

He turns. “Do you understand what happens if I let myself...”

He stops.

“If you let yourself what?”

“Nothing.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“August.”

“I can’t.”

My frustration spikes. “Then I’ll say it.” I move closer. “You want me.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“You missed me.”

“Not the problem.”

“You waited thirty-eight years.”

“Not the fucking problem.”

“Then what is?”

His face twists. “I LOVE YOU.”

Silence.

Everything in me stops.

My anger. My breath. My heartbeat.

For one impossible second, the world becomes completely still.