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He gives me a hard look, then gulps down his drink until his cup is empty.
“Something is missing in my life. The problem is, I can’t figure out what.”
I cock my head to the side. “Maybe it’s your Elven princess.”
One summer in freshman year, Wyatt made everyone call him Aragorn, King of Gondor. He must have been thinking about it too, because his face flushes with color.
“Well, like you said, it’s just fiction.”
I look ahead, watching the people dance and banter with each other. My throat is constricted as I think about Josie and how warm she was in my arms. I stare at the spot where we danced and the ache in my chest only throbs harder.
But the alcohol has loosened my tongue, and I finally have the courage to express my thoughts.
“Tell me something,” I start, refusing to look at Wyatt. “Aragorn gets the girl at the end, right?”
Wyatt snorts. “Aragorn takes up his rightful place on the throne of Gondor with Arwen at his side. Yes.”
I scratch the back of my neck. “How did he tell her?”
“Tell her what?”
I cough. “You know… How he felt about her. I mean, the Elf gave up her immortality to be with him even though he was always off on adventures without her.”
Wyatt hummed, thumbing through the pages. “I don’t understand what you mean. He just told her what he was thinking.”
It’s then that I realize I’m talking to the wrong person about this. Wyatt has no problems with communicating his thoughts. He’s a frank, pragmatic person.
They say being on the Autism spectrum is a disability, but in my eyes, it gives Wyatt a sort of superpower. He’s never afraid of what people will think of him, or how his words might be misconstrued. He just speaks his truth.
It’s refreshing.
“Josie said that I don’t communicate well,” I say, scrubbing my chin in a bid to look passive, but just saying the words hits me in the gut.
“She’s right,” Wyatt says. Another gut punch.
I face him, my face souring. “You know me. I’m not big on emotions. How am I supposed to talk when it makes me feel—”
Wyatt interrupts me with an eye roll. I frown at him. “What?”
After several moments of staring, Wyatt rakes a hand through his dark hair with a sigh. “I’m just trying to work out why you’re sitting here, talking to me, when you’ve got a woman out there who adores you.”
I swallow his words and they cut the back of my throat like razor blades. “You’re right.”
I shouldn’t be talking about this to Wyatt. Not when Josie is in town. This could be my last chance. If I pass this up, I know I’ll spend the rest of my life wishing I had spoken up and told her everything. As painful as it all is... The agony of losing her forever is worse.
“I have to go.” I clap him on the shoulder and Wyatt chuckles. “Go get your girl,” he calls after me as I hustle out of the gym.
11
JOSIE
The nurse opens the door and there’s an eerie silence in the room, but for a beeping machine.
The air is heavy as I step inside, and the only light in the room is a dim lamp on a small nightstand.
A man is lying in the bed, hooked up to all sorts of machines.
It’s hard to believe that this man is Logan’s dad. In his prime, Mr. Black was broad and muscular, with a head full of dark hair and the same twinkle in his eyes as his son.
