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Even as we think of time as infinite, as endless as the darkness between the stars, there’s never enough of it. To say or do or feel.
Words cascade through me. All the things I want to say to my dad, but there’s so many, all as important as the last, that I don’t know where to begin.
So, I just sit there, helpless and cold, until I let the reality sink deep, deep, deep into me—my bones and my skin and my heart.
And it’s only then that I let myself cry.
Chapter Twenty-One
Talk to Me, Love
Idon’t notice the sun set, or the shadows gather around my room, or hear my dad knock on my door and call my name, or hear his slow, retreating steps. Every sound is far away, away, away, a distant throb in another world. They come and are gone before my body can register them, before I can move.
My body sinks into the floor, the door, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get up again—until a dull hum vibrates against my thigh. It happens again, again, again, until my focus hones in on it. On what it is.
My phone.
Distantly I feel myself grab for it. Feel the pinch of the object as it digs into my palm. But I don’t truly register the name that flashes on my screen, not until it stops and starts up again, a beacon to another life.
And suddenly, seeing that name…
I peel myself off the floor. Open my door. Trudge downstairs. The glow from the streetlights outside cut through the darkness of the house, catching a dark, rectangular object on the kitchen island: a book.
I didn’t even hear Chase arrive in the driveway, or hear his voice. Maybe that was him knocking my door earlier, wanting to hand me the book. And I hadn’t even answered, hadn’t even thanked him.
I can’t bear to look into the living room as I pass it for fear I might see my dad sitting there, face ashen and taut. I can’t bear seeing that look. There are no words to make this better, nothing that will alter time, rewind it.
I step out onto the porch, and the rain is so heavy it splashes onto the steps, soaking my boots.
I don’t know where I’m going, but maybe, if I walk further enough, things will be different when I get home.
I let the rain pelt my face. Let the ice slice my skin. Let the heaviness of it leave me gasping for breath. My phone is a leaden weight in my pocket as it vibrates again. And again. And—
A car screeches down the street. I know who it is, know those pops and bangs, the glint of red as it passes a streetlight. But I don’t acknowledge it. Barely blink as the headlights balk me. Keep walking as it flits past me and skids to a halt. The reversing lights cast the rain into streaks of molten silver. It pulls up next to me, and a blond head leans across the seat and calls my name.
I can’t look at him. Can’t let him see me like this, transparent as the sheeting rain around me. Can’t find the words to talk, to tell him—
Suddenly he stands before me, his hands on my arms, halting me, saying my name over and over and over again.
Has he always worn that chain around his neck?
‘Frankie.’ His hands come up to cup my cheeks, and it’s his touch that cuts through the nothingness in my head.
I look up at him, my mind empty of everything.
Rain soaks Archer’s hair, dripping water over his face, making his bare arms sheen beneath the streetlight. Is that fear in his eyes, or is it merely the rain making them bright?
‘Talk to me, love,’ he whispers.
And it grounds me, that voice, his touch, his warmth.
Reality careens into me.
I shake my head.
One word and I’ll crumble. One sound and I’ll shatter apart.
He breathes through his mouth, his chest rising and falling heavily. I don’t protest as he scoops me up into his arms and carries me to his car, as he opens the passenger side door and secures the seatbelt around me.
