Page 81 of In Your Wake

“Yeah?”

“Are you naked?”

I laugh. “Not entirely.”

She shifts, looking up. “Did you bring me to bed?”

“I did.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be on the floor?”

“I figured since you were passed out, you wouldn’t mind. Do you want me to move?”

“No, it’s okay. Stay.” There’s a long pause. I assume she’s fallen asleep, but then she weaves her arms around my waist. “This is strange.”

“What is?”

“You and me. Are we enemies, are we friends?” Her soft exhale tickles my chest.

Confused by what’s happening, but also so strangely exhilarated, I focus on slowing my breathing. I’m not sure how I would categorize us.

“This feels like where we belong,” she adds and it’s like she’s nailed my feelings right on the head.

“Glad to see you can still read my mind.” I finally get my breathing under control, syncing it with hers, but my heartbeat speeds up when she tightens her arms around me, her icy fingertips gliding along my spine.

After a few minutes of her delicate touch, my eyelids grow heavy and a strange feeling takes over. It’s not bad, just different, lighter, like an overwhelming sense of peace. As though the entire outside world and its troubles vanish while I’m nestled in this small tent, holding her close.

“What happened to us, Mitch?” she asks, her voice so low I’m not sure I heard it.

Like a sharp knife, her question cuts into me. “We were stupid kids.”

“Is that it?” I can hear her doubt. Lightly, her fingertips slide up my back, then run down, abruptly stopping at the waistband of my underwear as if she’s hit a brick wall. “I don’t know if I can ever forget what happened. You get that, right?”

“I do. I feel the same.”

“Yeah? And how about forgiveness?”

I take an inhale, then release my breath with a soft laugh. “Sounds great in theory.”

“Hmm, at least we agree on that.” She pulls down the zipper of her sleeping bag, then slides into mine, pressing her thigh between my legs, getting as close as she can. “Yep, you’re still a human torch.”

I smile. No matter my feelings, no matter the anger that still clings to me like a leech, my body doesn’t seem to care about any of it and longs for this closeness. “What’s going on here?”

“Just keeping warm,” she replies.

A muscle in my jaw ticks. “But I thought you liked the cold.”

She slips her fingers beneath the elastic band of my underwear, and I hold my breath. Unlike that time years ago, now we’re adults and understand the rules. We recognize the consequences of missed opportunities and of mistakes made. Doesn’t mean that my brain isn’t screaming for me to run away as fast as I can.

She runs her nose along my collarbone, the heat from her lips right below. “Should I stop?” she asks.

“Maybe…”

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” She feathers a light kiss on my chest, right above my heart, and it finally stops hammering. In fact, it stops beating all together.

Words don’t exist that describe this feeling, and a moan seems to be all I manage. I slide my fingers up into her long tresses, taking a fistful and tugging her head back. Staring into her eyes, I see the past we shared, the highs and lows. Then, I drop my gaze to her lips as if they’re a finish line I need to cross, but I’m too afraid to reach. Ever since I started seeing her as more than a friend, I’ve dreamed of kissing Maxine. Back when she grew into the stunning, opinionated person I never imagined I would leave behind.

This won’t end well, my conscience reminds me, but it could very well be hers, yelling out to mine.