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‘I’m going to kiss you now, Annie,’ he says.
I smile.
Sketch’s large hands cup my cheeks, and I close my eyes. My heart beats furiously as I wait and wait. I can hear him shift in his seat. The leather squeaks gently beneath him as he draws closer to me. I gasp when the thin cotton of his white vest presses against my chest. Our chests rise and fall in unison as we breathe together in anticipation. And then I taste him. His lips are on mine like warm, delicious silk. Soft and firm. Strong and gentle. His mouth opens a fraction more, guiding me and taking control. His breath rushes from his body into mine like a summer breeze. A shiver charges up my spine, settling in the nape of my neck. Telling me to savour every second of this perfection.
Sketch’s hand drifts around the back of my head, his fingers getting lost in my hair. When he guides me closer to him, our lips lock tighter, and I breathe him in as if he’s the air that keeps me alive. I think, at this moment, maybe he is. Our chests press together determinedly, banishing the air between us, and I lose myself completely. That’s when I realise: Sketch Talbot isn’t just some boy I grew up with. He’s not just a long-lost friend. He’s not even some man I think I’m falling for. He’s my saviour. Sketch Talbot is my light in a world of darkness.
FOURTEEN
HOLLY
‘Holy crap, Nana,’ I say, lowering the manuscript. I secure it with a careful twist of my scarf and set it down on the end of her bed.
‘Well, Annie. That kiss was just smoking hot,’ Marcy says, running her fingers under her eyes to catch a stray tear. ‘I think I need a cigarette, and I don’t even smoke.’
A faint chuckle dances in the back of my grandmother’s throat. ‘Sketch was very special,’ she manages.
‘I don’t doubt that for a second,’ Marcy says as she adjusts the IV line in Nana’s hand. ‘Is that all right, Annie? It’s not hurting you, is it?’
‘It’s fine, Marcy. Thank you,’ Nana crackles. ‘I don’t need all this fuss.’
‘It’s just some fluids, Nana,’ I explain. ‘To stop you from becoming dehydrated.’
‘Fluids?’ Nana echoes, dragging a single eyebrow up to exaggerate her surprise.
‘Saline, Annie,’ Marcy adds. ‘Like water, only better.’
‘The only thing better than water… is gin,’ Nana gargles with a determined nod that seems to zap her energy.
‘Hear, hear,’ Marcy says, fluffing the pillows behind Nana’s head.
I watch as Marcy punches the pillows into a rigid mound. Nana doesn’t look comfortable at all, but her breathing sounds better when she’s propped almost upright, and her half-smile and semi-open eyes tell me she’s not in any pain.
‘Is that better, Annie?’ Marcy asks, her back bent as she hovers over the bed. ‘Are you comfortable?’
My grandmother moves her head slowly up and down; it’s such a subtle motion that if I blink I’ll miss it. But Marcy seems to understand, and I watch her take Nana’s hand in hers and give it a gentle squeeze.
‘Good, Annie. That’s good,’ Marcy whispers. ‘Is there anything you need? Are you hungry?’
‘Tea,’ Nana mutters. ‘A cup of tea, please.’
‘No problem,’ Marcy beams. ‘I’ll pop downstairs and flick the kettle on.’
Nervous panic hitches in the back of my throat. What if Nana stops breathing again while Marcy’s gone? I don’t know what to do. I hate that I’m terrified to be left alone with my grandmother. I want to spend all the time in the world with her, but when I’m next to her, I’m constantly petrified that something will happen and I won’t know how to help.
I drag my hands around my face and try to hide my fear from Marcy and Nana. ‘I can make the tea,’ I suggest breezily.
‘Not at all,’ Marcy insists. ‘You stay here and enjoy a little alone time, just the two of you. I could use the chance to stretch my legs anyway.’
Marcy must notice the fear in my eyes because her shoulders round and she pauses as she brushes past me to give my arm a subtle rub. ‘She’ll be fine, Holly. Don’t worry. I won’t be long.’ Marcy turns her head back towards the bed. ‘I won’t be long, Annie,’ she repeats loudly.
My grandmother waits until the sound of Marcy’s footsteps on the stairs disappears before she opens both eyes and pats the bed beside her. ‘Sit for a moment, Holly, won’t you?’
I swallow a lump of nervous air and force myself to smile so hard the muscles next to my ears twitch. ‘Sure,’ I say, reaching for the manuscript I left at the end of the bed.
‘Leave that for now,’ Nana says. ‘We can read more… later.’
My eyes fall over the mound of white paper peppered with Nana’s handwriting. The corners of the old pages are becoming dog-eared from being picked up and put back down so often, and my soft scarf that wraps clumsily around to hold it all together is indulging the mound’s need to rise at the sides and bow in the middle like a paper boat. With over a hundred pages left to read, I can’t shake the feeling that we won’t have enough time. My heart is heavy with worry, and it’s hard not to cry. I find myself staring at the ceiling sporadically, hoping that if I keep my eyes wide open, I can roll the tears back. Every blink is a hazard, but I can’t let Nana see how upset I am; I don’t want to scare her.
