Page 97 of Hearts on the Line

I grip his shirt in my hands. I don’t have anything to say. I can’t find the words—something like “I’m sorry,” or “We’ll figure it out.”

All I have now is a kiss, my body against his, to prove that I’m there too. That we’re both here, both alive, even as everything else burns behind us.

Chapter 32

Ethan

The water hits the tiles in a forceful sputter. The faucet head jolts awake with a loud thud, thud. The metal rings scrape over the shower rod dusted with rust spots.

My apartment is gone.

And the restaurant now too.

Sloane turns back toward me, looking over her shoulder.

I stand in the doorway of my childhood room, bare feet on the cool floor, still reeking like smoke. It’s in my hair, my skin, my clothes. The T-shirt I wore to the restaurant is in a heap in the bathroom sink.

Her long braid spills over her shoulder. Her hands don’t shake, but I know her. I can feel the way she’s holding herself together for me, like if she lets go, we’ll both come apart.

I don’t say anything. I can’t. My throat’s raw from the smoke.

She pushes my boxer shorts down my legs, and I step out, standing there, afraid to take my hand off her shoulder. Afraid to find out she’s not there.

Sloane reaches for the hem of her own shirt next, and my chest tightens.

“Sunny—”

“I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Her shirt lands in the sink on top of mine.

I don’t know if she means the shower, or the wreckage in my chest, or the fact that we’re both still standing here while the pieces of my life crumble behind us. Doesn’t matter. She’s here.

We step under the spray together.

The water is hot enough to sting. It runs down my back, black ash pooling at my feet. I tilt my head back and let it hit my face, eyes closed. The pressure isn’t enough to wash away the tight band in my chest.

Her palms slide over my shoulders, down my arms, slow and steady. Her fingers work through the tangles in my hair, massaging shampoo into my scalp, and I don’t realize until then how badly I’m shaking.

Not from being cold, or even from the lack of sleep.

It’s the same feeling as that night twelve years ago. That same sick knowledge: You had something good, and now it’s gone.

The only difference is that back then, when it all fell apart, she wasn’t here.

This time, she is.

Sloane tips my chin so she can work the soap along my jaw, her thumbs gently working down my throat.

“Ethan.” Her voice is soft. “Look at me.”

I can’t meet her eyes, too afraid I’ll break.

“Baby.” Her thumb swipes across my cheek, over the stubble. “You scared me today.”

“I’m fine.” That’s a lie though. I’m not.

“I know.” Her hands slide down to my chest, and she presses her palms there, reminding me I’m still breathing with each rise and fall. “I’m not going anywhere.”