“For letting me fall.”
He smiled, small but real. “Anytime.”
I leaned back against him. For once, I wasn’t thinking about the accident, or the pain, or the thousand ways we’d broken apart. Just the fact that we were here. Still trying. Still choosing each other, one small act at a time.
Later that night,after the house had gone still, Adrian found me in bed propped against the pillows, scrolling absently on my phone. The soft glow from the lamp turned everything warm and honeyed.
He kicked off his shoes and slid in beside me, careful not to jostle my leg. “I talked to my mom tonight.”
I hummed without looking up.
“She says hi, and that she loves you.”
I glanced over, one corner of my mouth lifting. “She’s always been too good to me.”
“She also said to tell you to rest and take it easy,” he added, trying for lightness.
I snorted softly. “That sounds like her.” I hesitated. “My mom and dad are coming for dinner tomorrow.”
“That’s good.” He sounded as if he meant it. “You should see them. They’ve been worried.”
“I know.”My thumb traced the edge of the blanket, eyes down. “I just… want them to see I’m okay.”
I didn’t have to explain the rest; the wayokaydidn’t mean healed, justtrying.Adrian knew.
We both turned back to our respective distractions—me with my phone, him with the novel he’d been pretending to read for days. This time, the silence was softer.
A few minutes later, I shifted. The slightest lean, a brush of warmth as my shoulder touched his.
Adrian looked over. I didn’t move away.
He mirrored the motion, closing the gap until our sides aligned. His hand found its way across the space between us, settling over my arm. He bent down and pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder. His lips were warm, the faint scent of soap still clinging to him.
I exhaled, a quiet sound of contentment, not pain.
It wasn’t an apology or a promise. Just presence. A truce made in breaths and inches.
I wanted to lean in fully, to crawl into his arms and lay my head on his chest, to ask for his fingers in my hair, but… pride refused to let me.
Despite my stubbornness, for the first time since the accident, it felt like we might actually find our way back. Not in one grand gesture, but in the small, steady returns that make up a life.
I must’ve drifted off somewhere between the sound of his breathing and the bugs humming outside the window because suddenly, we were somewhere else.
The air was humid. Salt-sticky. A summer day that melted time.
We were back at that beach north of Savannah, the one we’d found by accident on a road trip, where the dunes were high, and no one else bothered to walk that far down. I’d worn cutoff shorts, my skin kissed red from the sun, and the wind kept pushing my hair into my eyes.
“You’re staring,” I said, squinting at Adrian from under my hand.
“Just making sure you don’t dissolve,” he’d teased. “You’re pale as hell.”
I’d splashed him with saltwater for that, and he dragged me in after him. We tumbled into the surf, laughing, grabbing, and mouths colliding between waves.
We’d stumbled back to shore, soaked and breathless, collapsing onto the sand where the tide barely reached. His hands had found my shoulders, my chest, my jaw. I remembered the taste of salt on his lips, the way the horizon disappeared when he looked at me like that.
He’d whispered, “Don’t move,” and I hadn’t. Didn’t even breathe. I couldn’t tear my gaze from him, mesmerized by the sunlight turning the water on his skin into diamonds.
We’d made out until the sky turned violet, and when he finally rested his forehead against mine, he said something I hadn’t remembered until now.
