Chapter 13

13

In the patio area outside our room, the palm fronds and ferns hang in the breezeless night. A tree frog chirps to my right, and another answers to my left.

I smile, listening to another round of chirps before they fall silent.

Rory is heading back here with Theo and Carter. I'd needed a moment and said something about taking a shit, totally inelegantly, but they didn't question it. I just need some time to think after that jump.

We kissed at the bottom. Rory initiated it, still swinging on the end of the tether. The kiss was rather sloppy with us moving, but it didn't matter. He'd kissed me right there.

I take a swig from a water bottle, the condensation cooling my palm.

Tomorrow, we get back on a plane. Then finals and graduation. It's coming to an end.

I recap the bottle.

What am I going to do?

About a million thoughts race through my head, but they all stop when the room light clicks on. I watch through the sliding glass as Rory steps in, sweeping his hair out of his eyes and glancing around.

He's looking for me .

That tightens every muscle in my body with hope. It makes me stand taller, my thoughts becoming sharper. It makes the evening air feel lighter and my presence more relevant.

I need to talk to him. I need to lay it out there. Tell him how I feel. Tell him about the lease and what I'm thinking.

The door slides open, and he steps onto the patio stones.

I set the water bottle on the patio table. I've never been so nervous. Not even jumping off that bridge.

Scared?

Yes .

Because I've never been with anyone who's made me feel halfway like this. Who, just by standing there in the cusp of evening, changes the rhythm of my body.

"D?" he asks, frowning, and I suppose I'm being weirdly silent.

We're six feet away from each other, the last of the falling sun brushing red across his face. A tendril of hair slips down into his lashes, and he blinks it away. The sky is a deep magenta, and dark shadows linger between the palms and ferns.

And, fuck, those butterflies . Fluttering all the way up into my throat.

I step closer to him, my flip-flops pinching my big toes, and his shoulders straighten, his eyes widening faintly like they always do when I step closer to him.

Maybe I change the rhythm of his body too.

I hope I do. I hope that this time in Clua means the same to him as it does to me. I hope… I hope… I hope so many things.

His eyes sweep down me, over my bare chest to my board shorts, down to my pinched toes and then back, that wrinkle appearing between his brows. "It feels like something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." I rub the side of my jaw, a few beads of sweat rising on the back of my neck even though the evening is cooling. "Can I kiss you?"

He smiles, and my breath expels with relief at that smile.

He steps in front of me, tilting up his head to keep his eyes on mine.

I kiss him softly, then I loop my arms around him and pull him against me. I hunch to sink my nose into his neck. I close my eyes, feeling him breathe. Then I pick him up to kiss along his neck, his toes dangling.

I squeeze him tighter, trying not to crush him.

I need to talk to him.

His fingers tighten in my hair as I set him back down.

He sets his palm on my chest. "I've been thinking about patterns."

"Patterns?"

"It probably sounds silly to you."

"No, it doesn't."

"You don't even know what I'm talking about yet."

"But I will after you tell me."

He nods, his face serious. "When I first started to negotiate the concept that nothing is linear, it was hard for me."

"I'm not sure I've ever been worried about things not being linear."

He drags in a slow breath. "But if nothing is linear, then what do we rely on to explain everything? I worried about that, but then I realized there are still patterns. And now I look for the patterns. It's like that. You make me see the world in a different way. A different pattern. You… the way you want to kiss me. After so many times, I guess I start to see it as a new pattern. Something I can rely on."

A seed of hope plants in my chest. A different pattern . "You can rely on it."

He laces his fingers in mine, squeezing. "I'm learning, D. It's just so hard sometimes. My thoughts go in so many different directions."

I swallow hard, emotions rising. I don't even fully know where they're coming from.

I don't want to lose this . I don't want to go to California and miss this. I want a different pattern too.

"Rory," I start, having to work to keep the tremble out of my voice. "I don't want to be three thousand miles away from you. I don't want to be three inches away from you. I want…"

Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cry. My voice is so gravelly that I'm not speaking clearly, my throat tightening, my arms starting to shake.

He grips my hand tighter. "D?"

Shit. I need to say it .

I brace myself. "I want to go to New York with you."

He stills, red hair swept across his forehead, freckles dark against his skin.

I mean, he's not moving at all . Not even his eyes sweep over me. He's just staring ahead, not breathing, not reacting.

And holy fuck. What is he thinking ?

What did I just do ? Was that too far? Too much? Was I jumping in with both feet when I shouldn't be? Fuck .

Panic tightens my chest. "Rory?—"

"You can't." He breathes out, without seeming to move his lips. So fucking still.

"What?"

"You can't," he repeats, his only movement a half step back. "I won't let you."

Oh god.

That panic in my chest crushes into something else. Fear. Hurt. I don't know. It just feels like it's slicing right through me, hollowing me out.

"Why?" I ask. "Do you not feel…" I gesture between us. "This? Because it's okay if you don't." I swallow, hating those words. But if he doesn't feel it, then he doesn't feel it. There's nothing I can do about that. "But it seems like you do?"

Does he not want me?

Does he not feel this ?

I shake my head. I don't know how to think. I don't know how to talk. It just all coalesces into this pit in my chest, locking my throat, drying my mouth.

"D," he whispers, stepping forward. His fingers brush over my chest, and I watch them like they exist in another world. "Your life is in California."

I shake my head. "I want to go with you."

"You can't."

"I can . I absolutely fucking?—"

"No." His words rise over mine. "You'd regret it."

I stiffen. "What? Why?"

His fingers fall from my chest. "I know you would. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week. But after some time, you'd see that I'm not…"

"Enough?" I scrape out of my dry throat. "Don't keep thinking that."

His jaw ripples. "But it's a fact ."

"No, it's not."

"Yes." His voice rises. "It is . It's like I'm just waiting for what happens when you realize that I'm just some weird little nerd, that I'm not like you. I'm not good enough, from my brain to my body to my dick . So, no, you can't make a choice based on me—I won't let you."

"I'm not your ex," I say. "I'm not going to leave. I'm not going to?—"

"That's what makes it even worse ." He chokes out a sob. "You've been my best friend for three years, and when you stop wanting me—" His hands are shaking, his shoulders trembling.

I don't think I really understood until this moment what it meant to have my family love me like they do. To have people who are always there for me. To have the constant reassurance that someone isn't going to give up on me. That they'll be there for me, no matter what decisions I make.

Because Rory's had the opposite. He's learned that people are going to give up on him. He's learned that they aren't going to put him first. He's heard it over and over again. The pattern . And it's branded him so deeply that now, he struggles to believe anything else.

"I will not give up on you." My voice steadies. Certainty floods around me. I know this. I feel it. I believe it. No matter what happens between us, I will never give up on him. "I'm not going to stop wanting you. I'm going to want you now, and I'm going to want you tomorrow. Next week and next month and next year. And a lifetime after that. You're stuck with me."

He lets out a breath. "You can't promise that once you see me, you really see me, you'll still be?—"

"Nah, I pretty much can promise that I'll be attracted to you." I close the small distance he'd put between us. It feels like my heart is dumping out with my words. Like I'm tossing it at him, and I don't know if he's going to catch it.

He stares at me, the frogs chirping over his shoulder, the sky cobalt now, stars peeking down.

I press my lips and then just fucking ask it. "Do you want me back?"

He shivers. "God, yes ."

I expel a breath. "But you're scared?"

His lips part. "Yes."

"Of what exactly?" I want to understand him. I want to really know. "Are you scared I won't want our friendship?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"Are you scared I won't want your mind? Your intelligence?"

"No."

"Your personality?"

He hesitates, not as sure this time, but still gives a firm, "No."

I brace for the next question because I know the answer. "Are you scared I won't want your body?"

His hesitation stings, and when the answer comes, it fists like a rock in my chest.

"Yes," he whispers.

We have failed.

All of us have failed.

I don't know that we meant to, but somehow we've created these markers about ourselves, about our bodies, about what makes us desirable. We've created them for everyone , and it's just gotten worse with social media and everything shoved in our faces. We believe we need to conform to some bullshit standards when it's not true .

"You are so fucking sexy, Rory." I lick my lips. "I fantasize about you. I want you. I ache to touch you. There is not a single part of me that isn't attracted to you."

He blinks hard, another shiver rushing over him, his cheeks darkening with a blush. "It has to be so frustrating for you. That you have to keep saying it. Over and over."

"Have to?" I shake my head in disbelief. "I get to keep saying it. It's not frustrating at all. I'll tell you a thousand times a day and wish I could tell you a thousand more. I want you." I pause, struggling for how to put it into words. "When I'm with you, my heart races, my mind opens. Everything is clearer, crisper. I feel it." I lick my lips, nerves popping at what I'm going to say. But there's something whispering in my mind that maybe this might be the leap we need to take.

Fuck, I don't know. But he's right, the words are not fully working for us. I can say them a million times, and I will , but it's my kisses that he seems to believe.

And on that ledge earlier, he implied that he wants to take the next leap. We're on the edge. We need to jump.

"What if…" I start again. "I suck your cock?"