Page 70 of Find My Way Down to You

How am I supposed to exist in a world where everything I was is gone?

I pluck at my bracelet. The threads feel loose. A guitar string ready to snap. Every instinct inside me begs to run away, leave. Disappear forever.

A heavy knock at the door startles me. My next breath comes out like the A0 note on a piano—low, deep, reverberating. Mist fills my eyes.

Another knock.

I wipe my face. My pulse hammers away. As I sink under the grief and memories, my panic rises.

One more knock.

It’s enough for my brain to finally come up for air. “Max?” I call, stepping over Diana. “Did you forget your key?”

There’s no answer.

I creep over to the door. For whatever reason, I ignore the peephole. My shaky hand wraps around the knob. It takes three tries to turn it. I’ll never be able to explain why my heart settles so quickly when the door swings open and I see who it is:

Cary.

10

“You are crying.”

It’s not the three words I want to hear from Cary. Honestly, I don’t know if I want to hearanythingfrom him. But just seeing him standing in my doorway is a sudden rush of relief I’m unprepared for.

Because he’s not Max. Or my parents. Or one more person expecting something from me.

He stares at me for a long moment.

I’m still coming down from the panic attack. Eventually, I drag a hand over my cheeks, feeling the wetness on my palm. I take a small step back, leaving the door wide open for him.

He doesn’t walk through.

“You can come in,” I say. Then I squint at him. “Wait, do I have toinviteyou in? Is that a thing? Are Deathless like vampires?”

Sighing, he breezes past me. “They wish.”

I pause, blinking. “Vampires arereal?”

He throws a glare at me over his shoulder. But the corners of his lips are rising. “Why? Are you scared?”

“The only thing I’m scared of is how many black clothes you own.”

Tonight, he’s in a flowing black trench and fitted pants. His pushed-back hair curls behind his ears. The cut of his V-neck is deep. His long throat and sharp collarbones are visible. So much smooth, pale gold skin.

I do my best to avert my eyes.

“Why were you crying?”

From anyone else, the tone of voice might sound like concern. But not from Cary. From him, it’s an observation wrapped in a question.

I smile flimsily. “Put too much hot sauce in my ramen.”

Slowly, he takes in the apartment. My knocked-over ramen cup leaking broth into the carpet. Max’s mug of cold coffee on the kitchen counter. Unwashed dishes in the sink. Diana batting my balled-up dirty socks around.

Cary raises an eyebrow at me. “You like spicy things. I remember.”

A blush scorches my cheeks when I realize how he knows that. Our first conversation at the pizzeria. The pizza toppings. Well, it wasn’t much of a conversation. But that was his fault.