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I’m stunned every time I see that view. I don’t think it’s possible to ever get used to it. After refilling my glass of water, I return to the windows and take a sip. With my arms tucked over my chest, I hold the glass close and admire the inky-blue buildings and sky. The lights have no pattern but shine like stars against the dark night.
“It’s quite the sight.” His voice is low like the hour deems.
I glance back to see Loch walking toward me. “It is. I can’t stop staring at its beauty.”
“Neither can I, but I’m not talking about the cityscape.” When he’s standing by my side, staring ahead, he asks, “Why are you up at this hour?”
“Couldn’t sleep and needed water,” I say, holding the glass up.
He looks down out of the corner of his eye and nods. “Ah. I’m not a very good host.”
“You’re perfect at everything you do.”
“No, I work hard at everything to be perfect.”
Leaving no room for anything less, he outlines his tone with melancholy, which begs the question, “What happens if you’re not?”
“I don’t know.” A genuine answer.
Too fascinated to look away from him, I turn so I can blatantly stare. “You’ve never failed? Not at anything?”
“Not that I remember.”
“I have a feeling you don’t forget much.”
The pregnant pause has me anxious to hear what comes next. “You’re right,” he finally confesses. “I don’t fail.”
I expected no less, but I still hoped for a different answer. Though I think he does just fine. I mean, look at the view. That perfectionism has paid off. But still . . . “That’s quite the burden to carry.”
“What about you?” A smile falters on his lips. “Sorry, I forgot.”
“So did I.” I smirk, failing to keep my smile contained. “Ba dum dump.”
He gives me a lighthearted nudge. “The girl’s got jokes.”
Turning back to face the window, I add, “I try.” I sip my water, only able to wrap around one consistent idea. “My thoughts? I have a feeling I failed others more than myself.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I’m here instead of at home.”
Without hesitating, he moves in front of me, takes me by the upper arms, and bends to look into my eyes. “Let me tell you something, Tuesday. You need to get that out of your head. Cases take time to solve. You aren’t the first person to go through this, and you never hear of people not getting their reunion.”
“Because we don’t hear about them at all.”
“You think you have all the answers, but there’s an ocean of discovery waiting to happen. You could wake up tomorrow and be off to your old life.” An enemy occupies his eyes, an unfamiliar emotion. Fighting against it, he gulps and closes his eyelids, clenching them tight. They lift in milliseconds, but it was enough to stave off the unknown invader. But I saw it.
His hold has strength, intention that feels more than proving a point. More like he doesn’t want me to go. Dread wiggles in the pit of my stomach, reminding me that our ending is looming whether I want to accept it or not. I can’t live here forever. I can’t add to the burden of being unchecked boxes he needs to tick to feel good about his day.
“What do we do in the meantime?” I ask, desperate for guidance toward the light he sees at the end of my story.
He slides his hand up to my face, and the warmth of his gaze reaches my chest. I hate that a wave of emotion threatens my eyes with tears. How can a moment that doesn’t have an ounce of sadness manage to bring tears to my eyes still?
His smile is gentle like the world at this time of night. He rests his head against mine, his lips caress my forehead, a breath is sucked in, and then he whispers, “Make the most of it.”
Angling, he kisses my cheek and then lower to the corner of my mouth, causing my breath to hitch. But when his lips reach mine, there’s no frenzy like before. No, he kisses me with calculation—one hand woven into the back of my hair, the other cupping my cheek, a gentle pressure steadily increasing until our lips part and our tongues meet, tangling together and deepening the connection.
I wrap my arms around his neck, and tighten, his body a lifeline to the life I’m living. If I return to my other life, my real life, what will I do without him? He’s right. We’re given no choice but to make the most of the present.
Pressing myself against him, I kiss him with the same intensity as he usually stares into my eyes.
His arms slide around my waist and under the hem of the shirt, our heat welcomed as our skin sends currents of electricity through my body, making me feel alive for the first time since I woke up in that hospital bed.
