He lets out a surprised huff of laughter. “You’re so weird sometimes.” His hot breath fans out over my knee where the jacket pulls away. “But I like that, you know.”
I blink hard against the army of tears. They’re a very unwelcome and unwanted invasion. “Do you want to hear the quote?”
“Yes! I do.”
“I don’t remember itexactly, but it was something about rather being a butterfly with the people who…” This is a terrible idea. I know the quote is about love.Whydid I feel the needto do this? “Matter,” I continue lamely. “Than going a lifetime without them.”
Silence.
The fire flicks and cracks and then pops as tongues of flame discover hidden sap or moisture deep down in one of the logs.
“Fuck,” Wizard mutters. “That’s not helpful. That’s super sad.”
Yeah. Leave it up to me to say the wrong thing when it counts the most. My track record is so far unmarred. This place was Wizard’s paradise. A sanctuary. It’s one of those lovely, untouched refuges that cut off the rest of the world like it doesn’t exist. Look what I brought to it. If he wanted to keep this place protected, he never should have let me intrude.
Except he did.
I’m the danger. I’m the enemy behind friendly walls. It was always going to be me who could break us. I didn’t know it then, but I do now, and I still can’t change the trajectory. What story am I supposed to be writing? I don’t have the first idea, and that’s the real problem. I know one thing. I don’t want to hurt this man.
I’m failing spectacularly at not doing it.
The past few years swirl around us, painting the air like the fire’s smoke, acrid and thick. They crawl up my throat, cloying. Bitter.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“No.” Wizard’s shoulders heave with a sigh. “It’s sad, but it’s kind of perfect too. Life isn’t a fairytale for most people.Some are lucky to have a brief time with the ones they love. Some are extremely lucky to get any time at all.”
I’m so lucky to have him.
I’m so lucky to have had his grandpa.
He twists to look up at me. My jackrabbiting heart freeze-frames around this moment. Eyes gone from moss to hunter green, mirrors for the flames and the stars and the black velvet forest framed night. His face is so open and unguarded.
We can’t just forget and erase and start over, but there’s horrible hope in Wizard’s eyes. I want to apologize to him over and over. I know he’s not mad at me, but I’m in a rage at myself. I’m ashamed. I was unreachable. Maybe I still am. I might always be. He’s holding out this hope for me. For us. And I…can’t.
I’ll ruin it. Him. Me. Us. If anything’s true, I knowthatis.
Wizard makes a sound, a little wet, at the back of his throat. I thread my fingers through his hair as soon as he turns back to the fire. “Want to look at the stars? Like we used to do? I could get a blanket, and we could just stare at them. I could name them for you again. We—like on the roof, but proper this time.”
I know that the only thing waiting for us both in that cabin is separate beds and an ocean of thoughts, most of them things that we can’t change and can’t dream. Wizard wants this bubble, this world, our world, for just a little while longer.
I’d give him everything if I could, but I can’t.
My hands shake. I carefully lift them away from Wizard and put weight into my feet, like I want to get up. He lifts himselfaway, sitting up. We’re still connected. Shoulders. Hips. Thighs. Knees.
I retreat first. “I’ll get a blanket.”
Before I turn back for the cabin, our eyes lock. I shouldn’t look, but I do. I can’t help it. There it is, his heart laid bare. Offered up to me. His hopes for me and for us, but also his hope that this time, I might see it. That I might cup it tenderly in my palms and use grace and care. I could light him up like a beacon. I could make him glow with happiness. I could crush him just as easily.
Tears sting the corners of my eyes. I whip around. “I’ll be right back, okay?” I rush off to the cabin without waiting for a response. Running away. Again.
Chapter 14
Wizard
Ican’t play it cool. Esme knows that I’m not. She’s not either.
My heart is pounding so hard that I’m sure she feels it from ten feet away, where she spreads the quilt she took from the couch. It’s an old patchwork one, soft little yarn ends tied across all the many corners, an army of little red V’s.
