“What are you doing here?” he asks. His voice is eager and cautiously optimistic. It’s like a punch in the stomach; all the air leaves my lungs.
He’s happy to see me. He doesn’t hate me.
He takes a few steps toward me, almost charging, but slows down. I have the instinct to lean away, but I force myself to stay rooted.
“What else would I be doing on a Friday night?”
The attempt at a joke falls flat, my lack of conviction and confidence too obvious.
“Are you here to talk?”
“Yes,” I say, holding eye contact with him despite my desire to look away. I’m suddenly grateful the custodial service hasn’t changed the light bulbs. I appreciate the dim lighting.
Mac snaps his book shut and sets it on a shelf, most definitely in the wrong place. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, like he’s afraid I’ll run. His shoulders sag after he’s said it as if he’s been storing up the words, waiting to use them. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away, and then I’m sorry I didn’t tell you as soon as I realized you didn’t know. And I’m sorry I was such an idiot and thought that the way to not lose you was to hide things from you.”
He takes a step toward me, and then another. I take one toward him until we’re within arm’s reach of each other but not touching. Although the desire for him to reach out and touch me is strong enough to make me dig my fingernails into my palm. I thought this would be harder, but being around Mac feels as right as a dress tailored to fit my exact body shape.
“I am so sorry that I hurt you,” he continues. “I never meant to, Jessie. Living with myself the past month, knowing how hurt you were—” He shakes his head, closing his eyes, unable to finish the sentence. He swallows hard, his face contorting like he might cry.
The familiar pressure of tears bears down on the backs of my eyes, and I take a deep, slow inhale, looking up at the ceiling to keep myself from tearing up.
“Jessie.”
The way he says my name draws my gaze back to his.
“I missed you,” he says, his voice a whisper. His words are an arrow straight to my heart, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to just throw myself into his arms.
I clasp my hands in front of me, squeezing them together so I don’t do just that. His gaze is so intense I avert my eyes, scratching a pattern into the carpet with the toe of my shoe.
The very big, strong wall I built around my heart was so sturdy before this moment, but here in the dim, dusty library, with Mac spilling his heart at my feet this way, the wall, originally made of stone, turns to dust. His apology is more healing than I expected it to be. Jade was right: I did need to hear this. And just the fact that Mac believes I deserve an apology is proof he is exactly the kind of guy who’s safe for me to be vulnerable with.
And is there anything more vulnerable than an apology?
I take one more steadying breath and meet his eye again. “I’m sorry too.” I’m surprised by how easy it is to say the words.
He furrows his brow and tilts his head to the side. “But you didn’t—”
“Yes, I did. I called you stupid and I was just…mean. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m sorry.”
When Mac reaches for me, I let him take one of my hands into his own.
“Thank you,” he says.
And then neither of us says a word. It doesn’t feel necessary. The way he looks more relaxed than he did a few minutes ago, the way his smile reflects my own, the way he grips my fingers—all of it says more than either of us could with words.
A song pops into my head, but I feel too shy to sing while looking into Mac’s eyes. I look down and start to sing quietly.
“You light me on fire, from inside I burn…”I tentatively lift my eyes to meet his as I start the next lyrics. “When you’re near I desire…”
And then he joins me.
“To be lit on fire… When you’re far it’s too cold, it’s too cold.”
Our voices are shaky and quiet, but as we sing together, the massive library shrinks to just us. There could be a hundred people here and I wouldn’t notice a single one but Mac right now. I squeeze his hands, my muscles aching for more contact with him.
So when he gently pulls me toward him, I let myself be pulled. And when he dips his head, his eyes darting between my eyes and my lips, I let my body melt against his. He wraps both arms around me, one hand snaking up into my hair. I indulge the overwhelming need to touch him and let my hands splay out on his back. His body is both new and familiar to me. I remember so much of him, and I want to discover every inch.
He pauses just before his lips touch mine. His proximity is dizzying, the press of his body against mine intoxicating. The air between us is charged as if everywhere we stand, lightning strikes, and Mac and I are live wires absorbing the current.
