Page 46 of Until We Fall

“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 threeinchesaway 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 movingat all. Not even his eyes sweep over me. He’s just staring ahead, not breathing, not reacting.

And holy fuck. What is hethinking?

What did I justdo? 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 feelthis?

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.”

“Ican. I absolutely fucking?—”

“No.” His words rise over mine. “You’d regret it.”

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