Page 103 of Whirlwind
“Your smile is bigger; you’re probably using all forty-three muscles.”
“I’m not sure what that means,” he says, “but I like it when you smile. It’s my favorite thing.”
“I doubt that,” I say, my head tilting with skepticism.
“I know you do,” he says, suddenly looking far sadder. “I wish you didn’t. That you could pop into my head for even the smallest moment, so that you could have the same certainty that I do.”
How much easier life could be if that was such a thing. Or, how much more horrifying and complicated. There are plenty of minds I’d never want to have intimate knowledge of. Like—I can’t imagine how horrible it would be in the head of a serial killer, or the CEO of a mega-billion corporation, or some vapid asshat, for that matter. Tyson’s, I would, though.
“Certainty of what?”
“Of you. You’re so honest about who you think you are. But I’m not sure you see how incredible you truly are,” he says, holding my gaze. “And of us. I know without any doubt that you’re my future, and I’m yours.”
“How? How can you say that, let alone know it?”
“It’s simple for me. When I conjure an image of the future you—whether it be a wedding day, a fiftieth birthday, an eightieth—it’s me by your side. If I try to replace myself with some faceless man, my chest literally hurts,” he says, placing a hand in the center of his chest and rubbing it. “Right here. When I see my own future, it’s with you by my side, holding my hand as Lottie tells me she’s going to marry some dumb schmuck that I don’t think is good enough for her. When I win the Stanley, it’s you I imagine looking for in the crowd of people. You wearing the obligatory wag playoff jacket with my name on the back.”
My eyes dart to the box on my couch. The one Isla dropped off when she brought Nightmare home, earlier.
“Less than a few months ago, you didn’t know my name. Less than a week ago, you called me by another woman’s name. It’s hard for me to believe you, now,” I say—though, fuck, I want to believe him.
“I’ve never lied to you, Kit. I never will,” he says, reaching out to tuck a wayward strand of my hair behind my ear. “I didn’t mistake you for her. I wasn’t wishing she was with me. instead of you. Haven’t you ever been so deep into your own thoughts that your mouth says something you didn’t mean for it to?”
“Regularly,” I say sardonically.
“That’s what that was. It was me, confused by how my life plans were shifting so rapidly, and how utterly okay I was with it all. You know how surprised you are by how comfortable you are with me? It confuses you. That’s the headspace I was in. I always have a plan, a goal that I’m working toward. You disrupt all of it, and I fucking love it. It terrified me, for a minute.”
“Only a minute?”
“Okay, an hour or two,” he says with a soft smile. “Only long enough for me to realize that what’s far more frightening is a future without the love of my life in it.”
I must give him a funny look because he laughs.
“I’m talking about you, Kitpu. You are the love of my life.”
“You’re not even thirty, yet; you have a lot of life left.”
“And I want every day I have to be with you. If that’s what you want, too.”
That’s the big question, here. What do I want? What can I trust? Or what am I willing to risk if I’m wrong about Tyson? I guess that’s several questions.
Love is risky. It must be, because we place so much reliance on another human being to accept it and care for it the same way we do theirs. When I look back on the time we’ve shared, he’s done a lot to show me that he can be careful with me.
Is it worth throwing away over one misstep? Can I live with mere friendship with Tyson Murphy? Or no Tyson in my life, at all?
Sure, I can. The truth is, I don’t want to. Like him, it physically hurts me. I try to imagine the things he said—him marrying a woman who is tall, blonde, elegant, and graceful. It makes my stomach turn. I see her holding a red-faced, bald baby, Tyson’s arm wrapped around her. Him teaching a little boy who looks nothing like me to skate for the first time.
It all pains me.
Then, I think of Lottie and what she said earlier.
“I like you more than I like most people. That must mean something.”
“I hope it means you’re giving me a second chance,” he says, though it sounds like a question.
“I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“Well, fuck,” he says, completely dejected and looking sadder than I thought he could.
