Page 147 of Catch the Sun

“No…” She breaks apart, draping both arms across her stomach like she’s trying to keep all of her precious pieces from spilling out into the chasm between us. I reach for her again. She pushes me away. I do it again and again, until finally, she launches herself at me, wraps her legs around my waist, and sobs against me, every inch of us entwined.

Her hands grab my hair and pull my face down to hers.

Our tongues lash and tangle. Salt, grief, pain, love.

She kisses me desperately, taking everything I give her. And I give her my all. My whole heart. My life. I’m hers and she’s mine, whether she lets herself believe it or not.

I know she knows.

Our souls know.

Tugging frantically at my sweatpants, she shoves her hand inside the waistband and curls her fingers around me. I jerk back with a hiss of pleasure as she moves down my body, shoving at my chest, pressing me flush against the headboard. I watch as she grips me and strokes hard, cheeks glinting with tearstains, moans falling out of both of us.

Ella takes me in her mouth and brings me to my knees in less than twominutes. I want to hold out as long as I can, but I’m lost to her, lost to the feel of her mouth on me, one of my hands in her hair and the other twined with hers beside us on the mattress.

It’s over before it even began.

I release inside her mouth with a low groan, shuddering through the pinnacle, through that perfect moment of completion, while dreading the moment that comes next.

She sends me away again. Just like she always does.

I stalk back home, broken down and lost, sunk with the realization that I won’t be drinking in the sunrise with her tucked inside my arms. Tonight wasn’t that night.

Maybe tomorrow.

Chapter 35

Ella

I felt it when I woke up this morning.

That weird intuition that sometimes pokes at you with no logic to back it up. A rock plopping into the pit of your stomach. A knobby finger jabbing at your chest.

Sayingyesto an innocent New Year’s Eve party invitation.

I brushed it off as residual stress and anxiety. After all, Max never climbed through my window the night before—likely due to the fact that I threw his love confession back in his face—so my dreams were filled with ghosts and black thoughts. Not to mention, it’s also supposed to thunderstorm today. Storms always make me anxious.

Trying to counter the sinking feeling, I call Brynn over for some girl-bonding time. We sit cross-legged on my bed, facing each other, while I fill her in on Jonah’s shocking return and watch tears stream down her pretty cheeks. We hug and cry as I binge a tray of brownies she brought over, courtesy of her fathers. I wish sugar had the healing powers her dads insist it has, but my heart still feels irrevocably wounded.

I devour five brownies, just in case.

After she leaves, the sky swirls with gray and silver as I step outside and look up. My itch to delve back into bookbinding has been clawing at me over the past few days, and I’m craving the therapeutic outlet. Our backyard is laden with colorful wildflowers—lavender, pink, and baby blue. I’m going to pluck a few handfuls, press them between the pages of an old book, then use them in my next project.

It’s a slow, tedious walk to the backyard, my body sore from reacclimating. I’ve been doing exercises on the days I don’t have physical therapy, and that paired with my late-night activities with Max, I’m feeling the burn.

I take a few moments to sit in the grass before the rain comes, stretching out my legs, the tendons straining. Then I gather up a collection of purple and light-blue flowers and tuck them in my palm. Satisfied with my haul, I pull myself up and head back toward the door, eager to start working.

I’m walking along the side of the house with a fistful of flowers when a figure catches my eye from across the street.

Everything blurs.

Icy fingers clamp around my heart.

A blizzard races down my spine.

McKay.

He’s stalking toward me from his driveway, glancing once over his shoulder before beelining toward my house. Thanks to him, I’m not exactly limber these days, so my quick escape is more akin to a turtle trying to outrun a hare.

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