Page 102 of This Life and All the Rest
Maybe we can handle this now. Maybe us being different is a good thing. Maybe that means we won’t make the same mistakes again.
Maybe this is something that can last.
I make up my mind and grab my keys. I don’t even bother changing out of my pajamas. I just lock my room door and hustle to my car. I don’t listen to music the whole drive. I don’t try to talk myself out of it anymore, either. I just hum a Fleetwood Mac song and try to stay calm.
When I pull into the parking lot, it’s almost midnight. The lights in the center are off, but I know he’s awake. I use the key he leant me to let myself into the building, then make my way up the stairs with slow, measured steps. When I reach his door, I close my eyes and count backwards from ten before knocking.
Macon opens the door moments later. Shirtless and in gym shorts, just like the other night. But this time, I’m not trying to erase something. This time, I’m not close to drowning and in desperate need of a life preserver.
He doesn’t say anything as I step closer to him; he just watches me with wide eyes.
When I place my palms on his chest, he sucks in a harsh breath, but he doesn’t make a move to remove them. I slide my hands up to his shoulders, brush my fingers over his jaw, then lift myself on my tiptoes, until my lips are centimeters from his.
I hold there, waiting, trying to tame the wild beating of my heart.
“I was hoping you’d come,” he whispers against me, his lips ghosting over mine.
I close my eyes and lick my lips.
“I’m here.”
Then I kiss him, and this time, I let myself feel it.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Lennon lieswith her head on my bicep, sleepily trailing her fingers over the tattoos on my chest. My skin is covered in goosebumps from her gentle touch.
“Tell me about the paint brushes.” Her voice is hushed as she circles her finger around the clock on my pec, and I hold my breath for a moment.
I’ve been spilling all my secrets to her lately.
What’s one more?
I settle my hand over hers and squeeze lightly before running my thumb back and forth over her soft skin.
“It’s for you,” I confess, and she stills. “Because I was homesick for you. Because the only decision I’ve ever made in this life that I’m sure of was being selfish for you.”
She’s quiet, motionless, as my confession settles around us. Then she pushes herself up to sitting, clutching the bedsheet over her chest. I search her eyes. She’s warring with something.
I know this is a lot. Fuck,I’ma lot. But I’m done trying to keep things from her. I’m laying myself bare.
“Macon,” she says finally, her voice cracking, “I don’t think I... You don’t know that I’m worth all of this. So much has happened. So much has changed.”
She stops and shuts her eyes, breathing deeply.
Memories cycle, emotions claw at my throat.
I know what she’s thinking. We’re not those kids anymore. We can’t be naïve enough to think that we can work. But... Why can’t we?
I sit up and reach for her hand. I just want to touch her, to keep that connection, but I give her time to collect her thoughts. I wait for her to speak.
“You’ve built me up so much in your head,” she says after a moment. When she looks at me, her eyes shine with unshed tears. “I’m just... I’m not going to live up to it.”
I give her a small smile. She doesn’t get it.
“Lennon, there is nothing you could possibly do to fall short of how I see you, because I see you just as you are.”
“But the tattoos... the paintings... all of it,” she chokes out. “It’s just... it’s a lot, Macon. It’sintense.”
