Page 93 of Keep It

I don’t even think as I take his offered hand, wincing at the sparks that travel up my arm as soon as we touch.

He lets go of me as soon as I’m upright, taking a step back. I miss his touch immediately and wrap my arms around my stomach.

“What the fuck?” I whisper again, mostly to myself.

Danny runs his hand through his hair. “Uh, hello.”

“Hello?” I ask incredulously. “Hello?”

I press the heel of my palms to my eyes, as if I can rub away the vision of the love of my life standing before me.

“What are you doing here?” Tingles dance at the edges of my vision, but he is very much still standing in my mother’s driveway.

“I…” He stops and takes a breath. “I needed to see you.”

I stare at him. He walked away from me without a second glance, implying that I was taking advantage of him, that we were never going anywhere, and now he needs toseeme?

“Why?”

He flinches and takes another deep breath. “I knew as soon as I left that I was making the worst decision of my life. I thought it was for the best. If I left like that, if you hated me and we cut it off then, I thought we would both be able to move on. But it was like cutting off my right arm. I didn’t feel whole anymore, like some vital piece of me was still with you even though I was thousands of miles away.

Every time an article or a post came out about me and the mysterious girl I was seen with, or about my dad, I told myself that it was right. That it was right to leave you behind even when my body was screaming at me to pick up the phone and call you. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t listen to music without thinking of you.

Cassie came by and asked if I would help with her album, work on that song that I only ever decided to play because you inspired me to. So I agreed. We stayed up all night and she’d fall asleep in the studio but I stayed awake until my fingers were numb. I poured everything I felt about my father, about my life, aboutyouout, until I blinked one day and had an album in front of me. I finished it and I thought I would be happy, I thought it would fill me with purpose, with –I don’t know–joy? But it was empty, it was empty without you.My lifewas empty without you.”

He takes a deep breath, “I could have all the dreams I could ever want, but it would mean nothing without you. I love you, Anya.”

His declaration spills across the quiet driveway of my childhood home. He breathes heavily as if he’s just finished a marathon.

I blink at him. “I got a job.”

His jaw drops slightly before he barks a laugh and rubs his hand over his face. “I spill my heart out in front of you and that’s the first thing you say?”

I want to step closer but my feet feel frozen to the ground. “I got a job. I was so scared that you would end up steamrolling my career, that I would never be able to make it on my own, that I couldn’t have both. A career I was proud of and—”You. I bite my lip before that last omission tumbles out.

“That’s amazing, freckles.” A bright smile tugs at his beautiful lips. “I’m so proud of you.”

I brush past him, his chest brushing my shoulder. I grab my shopping out of the rear door. I don’t need to see him to feel his presence lingering behind me.

“Do you like French onion soup?” I ask, turning to face him.

He blinks. “Uh, yeah?”

“Okay.” I hand him the bag and turn towards the front door.

Chapter 43

DANNY

Anya’s childhood home is very different to mine. Mine was a mansion in Beverly Hills and a townhouse in West London. Cold and empty and lonely. Anya’s is a terraced house on a quiet street, coats piled on the banister and photos hanging on the walls. Anya barely acknowledges me as she toes her shoes off and leaves them in a neat pile by the door. I follow her lead and leave my sneakers next to hers. It feels domestic and I can’t stop the hope that rises in my chest. Has she forgiven me?

She wanders down the hallway and I follow, still dutifully holding the bag she handed me. My gaze snags on the pictures on the wall. I recognize small Anya immediately, her big hazel eyes and smattering of freckles hidden behind a goofy looking full fringe.

Anya pushes open the door at the end of the hallway, the scent of onions filling the small space.

“There you are. Can you butter the bread, petit chou?” Anya’s mum has her back to us, stirring a pot on the stove.

Anya glances at me out of the corner of her eye, her pretty cheeks turning pink. I can’t help the grin that pulls at my mouth.

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