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It was a lousy day. The sky was a dark shade of gray, nearly black, and the clouds in the distance were illuminated with silver lightning. I had hesitated before climbing into the SUV my parents had insisted I buy after crushing the last one. I was scared it would rain, was terrified I’d freeze at the first drop against the windshield, but I was surprised to find I managed … even with my missing limb. Using my right foot for both pedals came more naturally than I’d thought it would, and I arrived at her house without an issue.
The plan was … well, okay, I didn’t have one. I supposed my intention was to simply look at the house, to see where she lived, and drive away. But the porch lights were lit, and there she was, sitting beneath them, wearing a black hoodie and sweatpants to match, with her mane of heavy black hair piled on top of her head in a bird’s nest of a bun. Her phone was in one hand, and although it was held only inches from her face, she still appeared to be squinting.
I remembered her well from that night. In a dress that was probably illegal in at least a few states, she had been breathtaking then, heartrending even, and I knew any man would’ve dropped to his knees at the chance of calling her his for a night—or an eternity.
But this version of her, relaxed and comfortable with fuzzy black slippers on her feet …
This was my new favorite.
I supposed I should drive away. I should go back home and call her, now certain that the number did in fact belong to her, as if there had been any uncertainty to begin with. But I was never known to do the smart thing, therightthing, and so I got out into the misty drizzle and approached.
Lennon looked up from her phone at the sound of my boots walking over the pavement, yet she didn’t look at me. Even sheltered under the porch roof and beneath a stormy sky, she’d shielded her eyes with a pair of dark sunglasses. I came closer, now boldly stepping onto the lawn from the curb, and that was when she turned to face me. But her forehead was crumpled with strain, and that was when I realized she couldn’t see. Or at least, not well.
“Lennon,” I said, walking slowly toward the porch.
Her brows shot upward at the sound of my familiar voice. “What … what are you doing here?”
She pocketed the phone and stood up, looking straight at me. I was only a foot from the porch’s edge now, and I could see she was shaking.
Always shaking.
Is that just for me?
“I had to see you,” I said simply, leaving out the fact that I was acting entirely on impulse right now instead of being sensible and using the phone.
“Tarryn gave you my number, not my address,” she retorted, immediately accusing me of stalking.
Well, I guessed she wasn’t wrong.
“I know,” I replied, not knowing what else to say. “But I was afraid you wouldn’t answer, so I came by.”
She shook her head, scoffing with irritation before turning on her heel and heading for the door.
“Lennon, stop,” I demanded, climbing the porch steps. I hurried too quickly and nearly tripped over a potted fern. “Fucking leg …”
Lennon looked over her shoulder to see me standing close now, and her features softened. She swallowed and took a deep breath before turning to face me again. Arms crossed over her chest. Guarded.
“What do you want, Dylan?” she asked, her voice a little shrill, shaken. “If this is about some STD or something, you could’ve just text—”
“STD?” I gawked at her, then chuckled. “No, I swear to you, I’m clean.”
“Oh, good. I feel better now,” she muttered, tightening her arms and looking off toward the white fence.
That night we’d been together, she had been so brazen, so bold and open. But I could still sense those moments when she was shyer and more reserved, and I saw that in her now. Which was the real her? I wasn’t sure. Maybe both.
I hoped both.
Resisting the urge to smile, I stated, “I wrote a song for the first time in four years.”
Lennon slowly looked back to me. “About me?” she asked, soft and small.
I nodded. “It was four actually, and now, I’ve hit a wall.”
“You wrote … four songs …” She swallowed and tipped her face downward, strengthening her hold around her middle. “Aboutme?”
There was a shattering amount of doubt in her tone, as if she couldn’t believe she had made an impact on me. It cut deep—to imagine that I hadn’t made just as much of one on her. How could something so impressionable have been so one-sided? How was it at all possible for my world to have been changed by one brief night, only for hers to not have been impacted in the slightest?
I refused to believe it was possible.
