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Knox takes my hand. “You okay?”
“I’m surprised your mom took it so well.”
He shifts. “Yeah, well, I can be pretty convincing.”
“You seemed like you were crying earlier.”
He reels me in and kisses my forehead. “Maybe I was.”
“About what?”
“Regretting not helping you.”
Oh. For some reason, I had hoped it would be more. I mean, she was asking about love. So I thought, maybe he loves me and that’s why he’s doing this. But wait. Did she actually ask about love? I jumped the gun. I blurted out my feelings.
I tip my face up and silently ask for him to kiss mefor real.
And he obliges, making tingles shoot through my body until our moms call for us to come downstairs.
They’re both eyeing us.
And then my mom gives me a slight nod, her eyes filling with tears.
Mine immediately flood, too. A tightness in my chest snaps, allowing me to finally shed some of the anxiety hounding me for weeks. I leap forward and throw my arms around her neck, and the sobs that come out of me are far too dramatic for something happy.
“Thank you,” I whisper in her ear. “Thank you.”
I don’t have any other words. She strokes my hair and kisses my temple.
And no other words are necessary.
48
KNOX
My alarm goes off bright and early. Well, not bright. It’s winter, and the sun decides when it’s going to come up—but it’s not the crack of dawn, which is what time it is now.
I stretch and reach back for Aurora.
My hand hits an empty space.
I groan, killing the alarm and rolling toward her. She must’ve shifted farther away in her sleep. She was angry. I thought we had sort of come to a resolution, but when I finally crack my eyes open more and find her spot empty, I let out a huff.
Moving to the couch is a bit of a low blow.
“Aurora,” I sing, forcing myself out of the warmth and out the door. “Time to get?—”
I’m talking to an empty room.
My brow furrows. I search the other room, the converted guest room-slash-office, which is similarly empty. Her pink typewriter sits untouched. I was going to pack it. I actually should’ve packed it, knowing her. She’d write a litany of profanity in my honor, maybe.
Hopefully.
It’s clear she’s not here. She’s not in the bedroom, hiding in the closet or bathroom, she’s not in the main living spaceor kitchen or the closet by the door. Which I check out of desperation, just in case.
My phone, plugged in on my nightstand, has a notification waiting for me.
Some glitch with the tracker.
