Page 22 of Leave Before I Love You
I let him get through another verse, sleep tugging at my every molecule, the soft pull of his fingers in my hair, and when he’s about to start over, I ask the question I’ve been carrying since he sang this the first night.
“What is this song, Henry?” My voice feels harsh despite the softness of my whisper because of how silent it is around us, and his fingers pause in my hair for just the hint of a moment before continuing again.
“My mother used to sing it to put me to sleep when I was little.”
I nod against his chest and then venture another question—one I know I probably don’t have the right to ask, but one I’ve wondered about for a very long time. “What happened to her?”
“She left,” he says simply. “My dad said she had a history of mental health problems, and something broke in her to where she couldn’t handle being a mom anymore.”
My heart beats fast with heartache and a laundry list of follow-up questions, but I don’t ask any of them. I don’t say anything. Between my swirling emotions, Henry’s singing, and the heat of our tangled bodies, this tent feels full enough. So I just hold on to him tighter, like somehow, I can make up for all the years he went without.
“Hush now, little bird with special wings,”Henry sings again, and I cuddle a little tighter, close my eyes, and will myself to sleep like I’m supposed to.
But I do dream.
Of a mother I can’t identify with at all. Of a mother who would leave someone like him behind even though Henry Callahan isnotthe person you leave.
He’s the kind you stay for. He’s the kind you stay forforever.
January 5th
Henry
Morning wood pounds from my pants as I shift from my spot under Avery and settle her limbs into place to keep her comfortable enough to stay asleep.
It’s amazing, really. After four whole days on this Caribbean island with limited resources, limited shelter, and limited water, my hunger cues have waned and my markers for thirst are in overdrive. My body has, by and large, clicked over into survival mode, andyetthe biological drive to fuck lives on.
Sure, I’ve been sleeping every night with a painfully attractive, warm female draped over me, but I still can’t get over the male body’s dedication to its priorities in times like these.
I’d fucking laugh if it didn’t hurt so much.
And maybe if I weren’t still thinking about last night.
About the way she looked at me, her hazel eyes locked on mine, the space between us thinning, my brain short-circuiting as I got caught in the pull of something I knew damn well I shouldn’t let happen.
But I almost did.
I almost kissed Avery Banks.Again.
And if it weren’t for that rustling in the trees, I probably would have.
Which is the real kicker, because it’s not like I don’t know better. Avery is my best friend’s little sister. Avery is trouble wrapped in expensive perfume and designer clothes. Avery is the one person I should not be thinking about like this.
And yet, here I am. With a hard-on that hurts like hell and thoughts that have no business lingering.
Once outside the tent, I adjust myself in my pants and will my balls to untwist themselves as I slather on some deodorant from Avery’s waist pack we keep just outside under a sea grape leaf at the bottom of the neighboring palm. I run her toothbrush over my teeth using the teeniest bit of water from our hydration pack and then tuck both the brush and travel toothpaste inside.
As I’m zipping it up, I notice her phone for the first time since the no-service debacle and Avery’s subsequent all-American rage, and I wonder briefly if it has any battery left. Not knowing what the future would hold, I convinced her to shut it down when she finished freaking out, but I don’t know if it’s done any good.
Will a phone hold charge for four days if it’s turned off?Seeing as I never power down my stupid fucker, I have no clue.
Carefully pressing the button on the side to power it on, I wait while the apple symbol appears in the center, waiting for the boot up to show the percentage, and do a silent cheer when I see it still has nearly fifty percent. I’m surprised she doesn’t have a passcode on it for security—and yet, not, at the same time. It’s a little annoyance like this that Avery would see as trivial despite all the logical reasons to live with it.
I know we didn’t find service here, but now that we’ve had the time to explore a little more, I’m wondering if we might catch a rogue signal from the ridgetop.
My stomach flips over on itself at the possibility and the need to know.
I shut the phone back off to conserve the battery as the signal symbol dances to indicate it’s constantly searching, tuck the phone into my pocket, and peek in on Avery one more time. She’s sleepingsoundly, her hands folded in the prayer position under her cheek and her knees tucked up to her chest, and her face looks as relaxed as I’ve seen it since the moment we arrived.
