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“Liar,” I whisper, and he looks at me. His eyes search mine, begging an important question: can he trust me?
Am I the type of person he can trust with his feelings?
Does he feel safe enough to share?
“What happened, Cage?”
He sighs and shakes his head.
“I told myself I was only coming back here to get the house.”
“You thought there was a mistake.”
“I thought you were trying to steal it,” he says. “Now I know better.”
“Your mom wanted to leave it to Orlando. She didn’t want it tied up in a trust, though, so she put it in my name. It’s his, though. Everything’s his.”
“Are you going to move in?” He asks me quietly.
“I don’t know,” I say carefully. “We don’t have a lot of space here, but...I mean, Cage, she only passed a month ago. I haven’t even finished going through her belongings. It’s hard, you know, being in the house. It feels wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like it’s still her space. I feel like I’m invading it even though I know I have permission to be there.”
“You have permission,” he says, affirming me. “But I know that it must be strange.”
“It is.” I shake my head and look around at the sparse décor of my home. I kept things simple: not like Betty. Every inch of her walls is covered with pictures of Cage, of her, and of their adventures together. She has pictures of Orlando and pictures of me, and pictures of the three of us spending time together.
Everything in her home is busy.
Everything in her space is meaningful and important and valuable.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he whispers.
“She never stopped loving you,” I tell him.
“Thank you.”
“It’s true.”
“That means a lot.”
I look over at him, and it feels like the first time. I look at him, and I wonder what he’s thinking about, and I wonder if he’s thinking about me. Is he thinking about that night so very long ago? Is he wondering what would have happened if we’d only made different choices?
The world chewed us up and spit us out, but part of me believes that everything happens for a reason, and part of me thinks that we’re back in each other’s lives for a purpose.
I don’t know if that’s cliché or dumb or whatever...
All I know is that right now, I want him.
More than anything else, I want him.
I kiss him before I can stop myself. Before I can tell my brain to cut it out, I lean forward and press my lips against his. His mouth is soft, and his lips are gentle against mine. I know that I should pull away, and that doing this is wrong, but I don’t. Instead, I kiss him even more deeply, and to my total shock, he kisses me back.
Only, Cage isn’t gentle.
He isn’t sweet.
