Page 98 of Whatever It Takes
Garrison glances back at me, and then he squeezes my hand. I feel it. Palm against palm. That simple pressure lights up my world. It’s strange—how something so simple can mean so much.
His hand in mine.
I will never take that for granted again.
22PRESENT DAY – December
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
GARRISON ABBEY
Age 21
After a long car ride, Willow and I are dropped off at my apartment. Alone again. Tomorrow we’ll be back surrounded by her family.
We’re spending the holidays at their lake house in the mountains, which will be filled with a lot of screaming babies and crazy antics. But I’m honest-to-God looking forward to it. Because Willow is here.
I’m not going to be the seventh-fucking-wheel in the core six anymore, and I won’t have to video-record anything. We can whisper to each other. We can laugh together.
Willow wheels her suitcase into my apartment as I flick on the lights. She never saw it in person. I moved in after she left, so she’s soaking up the surroundings.
“It’s strange,” she says. “I feel like I’ve been here before, even though…I haven’t. Obviously.”
I get it. I’ve never been to her dorm in London. But I can picture every piece of furniture there. Mostly because I watched the videos she sent me about a million times.
“You’re here now,” I tell her. “Want anything to drink?” I pop open my fridge.
Only Lightning Bolt!, Fizz Life, a bottle of vodka and a couple six packs on the shelves. I do have a tub of hummus.
Willow notices the contents—or lack thereof. Her brows furrow. “What have you been eating?”
“The food of gods.” I swing open my freezer, packed with five frozen pizzas.
She laughs.
“Also Cobalt Inc. has a pretty awesome cafeteria. They have everything: prime rib, sushi, and a thousand different vegan options.” I nod to the fridge. “Pick your poison.”
“The vodka, definitely,” she says, which causes a chill to rake my skin. That would have been the verylastthing I would have thought she’d choose. How much has she changed in four months?
My hand solidifies on the top of the fridge door.
Willow’s lips slowly rise. “Garrison, that was a joke.” She points to the soda. “I’ll take the Fizz Life…or the beer. Either is good.” That’s what I thought she’d say but…
“Are you sure?” I question. I don’t want her to feel like she can’t change or grow. Like I’m stifling her. “If you want vodka—”
She puts her hands to my chest and electricity practically shoots through my veins. “Garrison.” Her eyes fill mine, and whatever she was going to say, it just gets lost from her gaze to mine.
The air stills.
She curls her fingers over my jeans’ waistband. I hold her cheek and lean down, our lips connecting. I kiss her strongly, pulling her closer. Heating my blood. We stumble out of the kitchen, never breaking apart.
Willow fumbles with the button to my pants, her chest rising and falling in quickened breath. I run my hand up underneath her shirt. Bare skin warm under my touch, but she still shivers.
Like this is the first time all over again.
“Willow,” I breathe.
She slowly unzips my pants, so fucking slowly. Like it’s a metaphor for how slow we’ve always beenphysicallytogether.It almost makes me smile, but I nod her on like it’s okay.
