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The crowds, the scrutiny, the pressure, the demands. The press. The expectations to do something great. The vultures that wait for you to do everything wrong.
What kind of inner strength does it take to stand before all these people and bare your soul open? I can see the change it brings to everyone around me—I’m just not sure Issy Woo can. I’m not sure that when he goes to bed tonight, or later this morning, he will know how many souls he touched. How many lives he changed.
I’m not sure if he will feel it was worth it.
…
WhenSaint Hopestarts, my favorite Issy Woo song, it sounds like a prayer. The melody is heartbreaking, but paired with his voice, it is absolutely shattering me. I know this song by heart, forwards and backwards, but hearing Issy sing it live is a completely different experience. It brings me instantly back to that barn where Marco and I prepared to die.
Where he died for me.
My eyes fill with tears, and I don’t even bother wiping them as they course down my cheeks and drop on my fingers that are intertwined with Marco’s. His head snaps to my eyes.
“Olivia?” He whispers, barely contained panic in his voice. “What’s wrong, baby? I’m right here, you’re safe.”
His bodyguard eyes are already scanning the crowds for potential danger, his hand reaching for a gun that isn’t there.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, “I’m being such a baby in Greece.”
“You’re not,” he replies immediately, his voice forceful. “You’ve been through so much, so much more than a single person should ever have to go through. And you have been so incredibly brave, it makes me start crying every time I think about it. But now you’re having some time off, and the trauma is catching up to you.”
“Someone has been a real nerd at therapy,” I tease him, wiping my eyes.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answers proudly. “Never miss an appointment, and always do my homework.”
“Same,” I say, and he nods. He knows.
It shows how much work I’ve been doing with my therapist. I’m better, stronger. Well, maybe not right now. I shudder, and Marco’s arms are immediately around me, holding me together.
“Talk to me, baby,” he says quietly. “I need to be with you in this. What is it?”
“I’m just back there. I’m in that barn again,” I murmur and I think he won’t hear me over the crowd’s roaring ofSaint Hope’s lyrics. “Dying with you.”
Marco lets out a deep sigh and pushes me against his chest so hard, my breath almost stops. He presses his lips to my forehead.
“Surviving with me,” he says. “Living with me. Breathe, Liv, breathe.”
I try to breathe, but the emotions are pressing down on my chest, clogging my throat. But Marco doesn’t let go; he holds me against until we are breathing together. Like we did then.
“I’m sorry,” I sniffle against his chest.
“I love you,” he smiles against my cheek.
“Marco, seriously, you need to stop being so amazing,” I half-laugh through my tears.
“Never,” he laughs back, and then he turns serious again. “We are not alone, baby. Never alone. I don’t want you to remember that barn, ever. I would wipe it from your memory if I could. But when you do remember it, remember that we weren’t alone in that barn, ok? We never have been, we never will be.”
I nod against his chest.
“Wipe it,” I whisper, and he hears me even through all the clamor. “Wipe it from my memory.”
He leans down and takes my mouth in his hungrily. His fingers trace a slow path along my jawline, sending shivers down my spine. His hunger ignites a fire that spreads all over my skin and body. The taste of anticipation burns my tongue as he deepens the kiss, a raw, unbridled passion simmering beneath the surface.
Then my hands are on the nape of his neck, trailing the roping veins as he leans down to kiss me, and I pull him closer. The whole stadium is pulsing to the sound of Issy Woo’s guitar, but right now it seems to be pulsing with the heat of his kiss as well. It’s more electric than the music, even though everyone empirically agrees that there’s nothing more electric than Issy Woo’s music.
Well, this kiss is.
Time blurs as he tastes my lips and I taste his, and all the months, the days, the hours of missing him, alone in my dorm room, melt away around us. Each touch, each shared breath that passes between us melt the boundaries of reality. Of what’s possible. Of what can happen. There is no fear left, no longing. Nothing but us and the electric force of our kiss.
