Page 75 of Where the Darkness Goes

Will gives me a knowing look as Tessa asks if she’s sleeping on the couch.

“No,” I say quickly. “You can have my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

She looks at me, her eyes glassy, cheeks red. She’s buzzed at this point, but with a burger in her belly, she’s no longer drunk enough that she doesn’t understand the reality of why that might be a bad idea. “Are you sure? The couch is more than fine for me.”

“Totally sure. Your brother hasn’t washed his sheets since we moved in, and I sleep on the couch most nights anyway, so this makes the most sense.”

Behind her, Will makes a face that says, ‘Oh yeah, sure,’and I roll my eyes to tell him to buzz off. He yawns loudly. “Welp, I’m going to hit the hay, put some headphones on, and crash. Did you have fun tonight?”

“Headphones? Did this Broadway trip sell you on country music after all?” She laughs but quickly moves on. “It was the best.” She throws her arms around her brother, and he rubs her back. “Thanks for taking me.”

“You’re welcome, and I hope you’re just being nice and honestly hated it because we are never going back.”

She tries to suppress a giggle. “Oh. I’ve gotta get my bag out of your room before you go to bed.”

“I’ve got it,” I interject, stepping around them and down the hall. In Will’s room, I grab her lilac duffel bag and carry it back to mine, placing it on the end of the bed.

Tonight’s the night. This is my chance to finally tell her the truth—or at least, the part of the truth Will won’t hate me for. I have no idea what I’m going to do, but this is it.

I release a long, slow breath. When I turn around, she’s there, though I hadn’t heard her come in. Warmth hits my cheeks.

“Oh. Hey.”

“Thanks for getting that.” She moves around me, dragging a finger across her bag. The air is charged with crackling anticipation, like those candies that pop on your tongue, and I wonder if she feels it, too.

“Oh, sure. No problem.” I run a hand against the back of my neck. “Um, I’m really glad you came tonight.”

She bobs her head, studying the ground like she might take a test on it later. “Yeah, me too. It was nice to get away. Thanks for”—she gestures toward the bed, not meeting my eyes—“this, by the way. You really didn’t have to?—”

“Oh, sure. Seriously. It’s the least I could do.”

“So how are you liking?—”

“Did you decide what you’re—” I say at the same time, and we both stop, laugh, and wait. I gesture toward her.

“How are you liking Nashville?” she finishes.

“It’s nice. Definitely different.” The conversation is heavy and stilted, and I need to just say what I came to say before she gets tired. “Hey, listen?—”

“Could I ask you somethin?—”

Again, we laugh.

“You first this time,” she says, gesturing to me.

“Right. Well, I guess I just wanted to say…” I stop, looking around. Suddenly, I’m sweating.

“I really missed you,” she bursts out, stopping me short with the world’s best interruption. Her eyes soften, and she leans her head to the side.

“You did?” I stare at her like if I blink, she might disappear and force me to wake up.

“You know how much I missed you.” She gives me a laugh filled with nerves.

“No,” I tell her definitively. “No, I didn’t.” I step forward as if finally giving in to the magnetic pull I feel between us, and at the same time, she steps toward me.

We collide somewhere in the middle. Both our hands go up so we’re clutching each other’s shirts, grasping and tugging like we can’t have a spare inch of air between us. Her lips are on mine in a second, and the world is brighter, the air easier to breathe.

I trace my tongue across the fullness of her lips. My mouth hasn’t forgotten her. She’s there, in every memory, every moment.

---