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His body shakes.
I don’t even think.
I crawl over to him, smearing blood, and pry his hands from his face. He murmurs something, but it’s muffled—
Finally, he lets me see him, his wet face, the haunted look in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, over and over and over again. ‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—‘
‘Shhh. It’s okay.’ Tears slide down my cheeks, because it’s not okay. It won’t ever be okay. Every part of me is broken, but I put pressure on his wound, even though I bleed out before him.
He pulls his hair. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry—‘
‘It’s okay.’ I cup his cheeks, his tears mixing with my blood, and I do the only thing I know that matters. The only thing words cannot convey.
I kiss him.
His lips are still beneath mine, and I feel him go rigid, hear his breathing catch. I pull back to look at him. The haunted look in his eyes has cleared, and he stares at me like—like he’s seeing me for the very first time. But I don’t move. We stay like that, a hairsbreadth apart, as I wait for him.
He frowns and huffs a disbelieving laugh. And then he reaches out slowly and places a hand on my cheek, his thumb caressing my skin, and I will never forget the look that fills his expression as he pulls me to him.
Our lips meet in a clash of salt and tears and blood, and we breathe each other in, forging that severed chasm between us with every sweep of our tongues and every gasped breath and every whispered name.
I’m not sure who reaches for who, but suddenly I’m in his lap, his knees raised behind me, holding me to him, and his hands are in my hair, and his lips are compliant beneath mine.
It’s funny how you can give every part of your body to someone else, even when your mind has already left.
Chapter Thirty
Thank You
Iwanted to be a princess when I was younger. A professional showjumper. A performer.
And then I wanted to be a famous YouTube singer. And then I wanted to elope to a foreign island with nothing but my name and start anew, maybe meet a handsome millionaire who was a classic car enthusiast.
But the only childhood dream that’s really stuck is how much I want it to snow on Christmas Day.
It would have been the best gift Santa could have given me when I was little. The first thing I'd do when I woke was bound to the window and press my face to the glass, noting the lack of white on the ground, and then I’d glance skyward, looking for any grey clouds. My parents were never awake at that point, so I’d wait by the window until they came into the living room before I opened my presents, but I would secretly hope for snow. All day.
And it never came.
No matter how much I closed my eyes and wished, the sky remained blue.
This Christmas is no exception.
There’s a chill in the air but the sun shines, as if to sayI want you to know it’s winter, but I’m not snowing for you.
I’m half-glad it doesn’t snow as I drive down to my dad’s. It can snow later tonight, when I’m back home and curled in my snuddie by the window with a hot chocolate warming my fingers.
I’m spending the day with my dad and Jan and treating them to a Christmas dinner at the local grub house, and then I’ll be joining Arch and his family at his dad’s place in Southampton (Ian sold his old house after Archer moved out).
I drop Emmy and Jess their gift on the way. Em squeals when she answers the door, her face darkening as her gaze lingers on the bruising marring my nose. The blow Archer gave it didn’t break it, but it swelled the next day and bruised a couple days after that, but it’s nothing compared to my blackened ribs. I told Em I walked into an open cupboard, and although she didn’t believe me, she hasn’t pried about it.
I stop for a brew and share their excitement for their cosy apartment, newly decorated with Christmas decor. My eyes linger on the tree in the hallway, though: small pictures of the two of them dangle from the branches, and a pang goes through me.
I don’t think Arch and I have a single picture together. I can’t even imagine getting a picture with him. He’d probably laugh at me.
I hug Jess goodbye, but Em pinches my cheeks and plants a kiss on my nose. ‘There,’ she says with a tentative smile. ‘All better.’
‘Oh no, I think…’ I place a hand on my chest. ‘I think you’ve infected me with your gayness.’
