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Someone whistles from nearby, just as a car whooshes by, splashing dirty ass water over the three of us.
Shawn curses as Mason lets out another obnoxious howl and I’m laughing. I'm smiling so big, it feels like my face might split.
My throat still feels thick, and it still feels like something heavy’s sitting on my chest, but it no longer feels like anI might diekind of pressure.
More like anI’m alivekind of pressure.
It’s a feeling I’m still getting used to. As is the emotional whiplash that comes from hurtling between the two at any given moment.
Something tells me I won’t have to be alone tonight after all, even if it means they’re exhausted tomorrow. I have to let them be there for me, just like I would for either of them.
By the time we reach the street our hotel’s on, Mason and I are both belting the lyrics to “Under the Bridge” at the top of our lungs. No one we pass seems to mind. Hell, I think a couple people even had their phones out, recording us. We sound good, I know we do, even if we’re choking on laughter through most of it.
They probably think we’re drunk off our asses and I can’t find it in me to care at the moment. We’re a goddamn cliché set against the backdrop of Tinseltown, andfuck,I’m happy to be alive despite missing Will.
Shawn’s shaking his head at us, but I don’t miss the smile he’s fighting tooth and goddamn nail to hold back.
Mason skips ahead as the lights of the valet entrance draw closer, welcoming us home.
I turn around, strutting backward as I press my hand to my chest and serenade Shawn about the city who loves me.
I don’t realize Mason’s stopped singing, much less that he’s come to a stop. Nor do I immediately register Shawn’s smile dimming, brown eyes widening on something behind me.
Not until it’s too late and I crash into Mason’s back.
My singing cuts off with anoomphand a bark of laughter. “Dude.”
It’s pouring now. Rain’s splattering over my head and down my cheeks. My hair has been flattened, and dark pieces cling to my temples and the back of my neck.
I’m still smiling, still breathless, using Mason’s shoulder as leverage to turn around so I don’t fall over as I catch my balance.
“What—”
Only I never get a chance to ask. Not that I need to.
I was wrong before, I realize, as the figure huddled under the overhang comes into view.
So, so wrong.
I watch, drenched and frozen, as he pushes off the bench, coming to a stand.
Black t-shirt. Ripped jeans that look a little too tight to be his.
Dark blond hair mussed up every which way, and stubble lining his rigid jaw.
Knuckles white around the strap of the duffle he hikes up his shoulder. Biceps bulging, flexing with his movements and the tension lining his body.
His eyes are on mine, and mine are on his, and the whole damn city of Los Angeles could be burning right now for all I know.
Now,I think.NowI’m happy.
Not just happy, butrelieved.Relieved I never gave up, never gave in, just so I could get to this moment. Right. Fucking. Here.
My eyes are burning, and I’m sure they’re bloodshot to all hell. I can’t smile, can’t swallow.I don’t so much as blink or breathe, too fucking terrified he might disappear if I do anything butstare.
He came.
Head empty of everything but that.
