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I squeeze him gently. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he says thickly. “I’m fucking good.” I can hear the tears in his voice.
“Oh, my baby…” His body shakes. I hold him tightly in the dark, with the city winking all around us. I cry, too.
I can’t stop running my hands over him. He can’t stop doing the same. I run my hands all over his body. I even stroke the central line... so familiar, like a friend.
I kiss his throat. I taste his salty skin.
He’s quiet. I’m quiet...
His lips are on my temple. His mouth by my ear. “I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry, Cleo. I didn’t know what to do...” His voice cracks. “I kept thinking of you there, and me sedated, on the vent, if something happened… Whitney. On that day.” I feel him shudder. “I thought you would go home. Why didn’t you just go home?” His voice cracks, and he draws me up against his chest.
“I told you I would never leave. I would sit there every day and watch for body bags.”
“Christ.” Another shudder and some little moaning sound. “I’m so fucking sorry. So, so sorry.” His lips are everywhere. My face and hair… He wraps me tight against him. “I did everything wrong.”
“You did what you thought was best. I talked to Arethea... she told me you were on the ventilator for six days and the first two were pretty touch and go. I’m sorry, baby.” I stroke his face as hot tears spill down mine. “I’m sorry you were by yourself.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Arethea said Willard was bullshitting us that day you got the fever. She said you were lucky to pull through.”
His forehead pushes against my fingers. “I kept seeing you. On the surface of the water. All your hair. I tried to swim to you.”
I curl up against him.
We talk all night, and make love two more times. We fall asleep together, tangled and soul-weary.
The next morning I see all of him in the light. His hair. His pretty limbs. His chest and shoulders, and his perfect Kellan face. He’s so beautiful.
“How are you? How do you feel?” I kiss his abs.
He guides my hand between his legs.
“No…really.”
He pulls me against him, his chin rubbing my hair. “I have a lot of joint pain sometimes. My lungs aren’t 100 percent. I have a hard time with weird shit, like pig latin. And remembering everything at the store without a list. Even the online store.” He gives a little laugh. “But I still know my antiderivatives, and I know every origami sparrow you hung on the ceiling. I would make the ICU nurses read them to me.”
“You missed me?” Tears shimmer in my eyes as I look at his face. All the emotion there…
“I missed you every day, and every night. When I got moved back to our room... I had a bad time. I struggled about calling you, but I didn’t think it was fair to jerk you around. I knew if I got close to death again, I would want you to go again. And then one time I thought I was... My heart did something. Sort of like a hiccup from the chemo. And I wanted you. Arethea laid in bed with me. I would have been embarrassed as fuck if I wasn’t missing you so bad. But that was my last night inpatient. I came here, and I just…couldn’t call. I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
I pinch his arm. “How could you say that, crazy person?! You said you would take me all around New York. Kellan... I would take your call from anywhere. You know I can’t leave again. I can’t. I won’t. If you want me gone, you have to tell me now.” My voice cracks.
He lays his cheek against my cheek, kisses my temple. “It won’t be normal—ever. I still take sixteen pills a day. You can still trace both of my hip bones... I can’t run for more than fifteen minutes. Still can’t breathe enough.”
“Kellan, please. I love you so much. I would want you with no legs and arms.”
“Let’s not wish for that.” He strokes my cheek. “I love you too.”
“Stay w
ith me? Forever.”
He smiles a little, then it slips away. His face is gravely serious. Then he laughs.
“Cleo…”
