Page 95 of Don't Let Me Go
“Okay,” Jackson concedes with an amused snort. “But what’s our unfinished business?”
Fuck, that’s another good question.
As far as I can recall, the only thing I really wanted in my dreams was to be with Jackson. That’s it. But Jackson and I are together. We got our happy ending. Does that mean we’ve finished our unfinished business?
Personally, I’d love nothing more than to believe that Fate is some big queer matchmaker. That it’s so invested in Jackson and me as a couple that it’s willing to suspend all the rules of science to bring us together over multiple lifetimes. But the logical part of my brain knows that’s absurd. Not to mention completely narcissistic.
I mean, what could possibly be so special about Jackson and me? Out of all the people in the history of the world, why would the two of us be given the opportunity to find each other over and over and over again?
Assuming that’s even what’s happening.
For all I know, Jackson could be right. There could be a perfectly rational explanation for the fainting and the dreams. Something scientific or medical, like brain tumors. That would be just our luck. Though in a way, brain damage would be a relief. It’d make a hell of a lot more sense thanreincarnation.
“Hey, where’d you go?” Jackson asks. He slips his hand intomine and gives it a comforting squeeze. I must have spaced out for a bit.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I’m just trying to figure out if we’re dying, insane, or cursed.”
Jackson erupts in laughter. “Why are those our only options?”
“What other option is there?”
“We’re sleep-deprived? Stressed out? So in sync that we have the same dreams?”
“You really don’t think it’s anything more than that?”
Jackson shakes his head. “Look—do I know why we keep fainting and having these weird-ass dreams? No. But I do know reincarnation isn’t real. And even if it were—even if we’ve somehow lived multiple lives together—would that necessarily be a bad thing? Why can’t it be something good?”
“How could it be something good? It would mean we’ve died at least three times.”
Jackson smiles. “True. But it would also mean that we got to live three extra bonus lives. And I kind of like the idea of spending more than one lifetime with you.”
Oh. Wow.
That might be the most romantic thing that anyone has ever said to me. In fact, I’m pretty sure my insides just melted into a sappy gay soup that’s about to spill out of me and ruin this sofa.
“I guess when you put it like that,” I say, lacing my fingers through his, “reincarnation doesn’t sound too terrible.”
Jackson leans forward, and when he kisses me, I no longer care how many past lives we might have had. Becausethislife, the one I get to share with Jackson here and now, is more than enough.
It’s everything.
I climb onto Jackson’s lap, straddle his hips, and feel his stronghands slide up under my shirt. It occurs to me that we never got around to “celebrating” Jackson’s birthday, and I am more than ready to correct that omission.
In fact, I’m just about to suggest that we head back to his room before we get too carried away when our make-out session is once again interrupted. Not by Jackson’s aunt but by his phone. With a groan of frustration, he pries his lips away from mine and pulls the buzzing culprit from his pocket.
“Huh,” he says, staring at the screen in surprise. “It’s my mom.”
“She must be calling to wish you a happy birthday,” I say as I slide off his lap.
“Guess I’d better answer.”
“Don’t worry.” I wink. “We can finish what we started when you’re done.”
“We’d better.”
Jackson kisses me again, playfully biting my bottom lip. Then he hops off the sofa and heads to his room to answer the call.
I take out my own phone and decide it’s time to answer some of the five hundred texts that I have. One is from Dad asking what time he should expect me home today and if I had fun at Duy’s, which is where I sort of implied that I’d be spending the night yesterday when I texted him to say I wouldn’t be coming home after the Glorious Peccadilloes concert.
