Page 102 of Don't Let Me Go
“What?” I laugh. “I’m being a supportive boyfriend. I’m agreeing with you!”
Riley scowls like an angry little hedgehog, so I set down the empty pizza boxes that I was about to carry out to the recycle bin and pull him into a bear hug. “All jokes aside,” I say as he melts into my embrace, “tonight was just what I needed. So thank you. And you’re right, Iamlucky to have such incredible friends. Not to mention an even more incredible boyfriend who’s smart and funny and very,verykissable.”
“Good save.” Riley gives me a quick peck on the lips, then rests his head against my shoulder.
I love seeing him so relaxed. I wish I could claim some of the credit for that, but so far, my attempt to put his fears about our past lives to rest hasn’t yielded much success. I was hoping by now to have poked enough holes in the historical accuracy of our Viking dream to make him realize we’d made it all up. But from what I read about Erik the Red and Greenland, our dreams were surprisingly accurate. Even the witch’s predictions about the future turned out to be spot-on. Erik’s son did come home safely from America. And the settlement at Brattahlid did collapse after Erik’s death.
Not that thatprovesanything. It just means I need to do more research.
Next week I’ll start looking into London during the Blitz. If that doesn’t turn up anything I can use to debunk Riley’s theory, I’ll move on to Pompeii. I know there’s got to be something I’m missing, some obvious anachronism or detail that’s just plain wrong and that’llprove without a shadow of a doubt that our dreams really are just that: dreams.
Then again, if Riley stays as happy and relaxed as he is right now in my arms, maybe I won’t need to convince him of anything. Maybe he’ll forget his crazy theory on his own. And we can just enjoy being together without anything hanging over our heads to spoil it.
Well, anything other than my parents.
“I’m sorry your mom and dad still aren’t talking to you,” Riley says as if reading my mind.
“Don’t be,” I tell him, gently pulling back so he can look into my eyes and see just how okay I am. “At this point, I’m with Audrey. They’re assholes. And until they get their shit together and stop being assholes, I’m not gonna waste my time on them.”
“Still, they’re your parents. I feel like if they could just see how happy you are, they might change their minds.”
“Maybe I should text them some photos,” I joke.
But a second later, the idea of sending my parents proof of my happiness—of the amazing life that I’ve built for myself—doesn’t seem so laughable. I plop down on the sofa and pull out my phone.
“You’re not seriously going to do it?” Riley asks, sitting beside me.
“Why not? The whole reason my parents aren’t talking to me is because they want to punish me, right? They want me to feel bad so that I’ll come crawling back to them and apologize for daring to defy them. But if I show them that I’m doing just fine without them, maybe they’ll realize that I’m not the one who needs to change.”
“Or it might piss them off even more.”
I shrug. “So it’s win-win.”
I start scrolling through my photos, trying to find the perfect pic to send them. There’s a group shot of Duy, Tala, Audrey, Riley, and me eating pizza that Aunt Rachel took before she cleared out for thenight so we could have the house to ourselves. Then there’s a photo of Duy presenting me with the rainbow cake they baked. There are also a bunch of selfies of Riley and me kissing and snuggling on the sofa. In almost every photo, I’m smiling harder than I’ve ever smiled in my entire life, and I want my parents to see that happiness. I want them to see me.
“Fuck it,” I say with a laugh. I select every photo from tonight as well as the unedited photo of Riley and me from Rink-O-Rama and send the entire batch to my parents.
Riley gasps in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“Believe it. Your boyfriend has zero fucks to give.”
Riley leans forward and nuzzles his face against mine. “Have I ever told you how hot it is when you refer to yourself as my boyfriend?”
“No. Tell me.”
“How about I show you instead?”
Riley takes my face in his hands and pulls me into a kiss. Not to be outdone, I bury my face in his neck and kiss his throat, which I’ve recently discovered is his favorite place to be kissed.
Sure enough, he lets out a little moan, and his breath comes out in hot, quick gasps against my ear. I feel the heat rising off his skin as he wraps his arms around me and runs his fingers through my hair.
I’m about to suggest we continue things in my bedroom when Riley goes stiff in my arms. I feel a shiver run down his spine and his shoulders tense, and I pull back to see what’s wrong.
Riley is staring at the TV. We left it on while we were cleaning up but neither of us were paying much attention to it. Now, though, Riley can’t take his eyes off it.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
Riley grabs the remote and turns up the volume. A commercial is playing, some low-rent ad for a cheesy psychic named JocastaDevereaux. Apparently, she’s gonna be in town tomorrow at the Hilton offering some sort of seminar on “how to unlock the power of your past lives.”
