Page 98 of The Two of Us

I sigh. “We love each other, don’t we?”

He tucks my hair behind my ear, releasing a small laugh. “Yeah, I think we do.”

“I thought you hated me.”

Ambrose inches closer to me and I’ve never seen eyes look so apologetic. “I never hated you, Mouse. And I’m so unbelievably sorry I made you feel that way. It was wrong.” He licks his lips as his gaze falls to my mouth. “There were a lot of things I wanted to do to you over the years that didn’t include making you feel hated.”

My pulse quickens. “Like what?”

Ambrose leans forward and brushes his supple lips across mine. Something buzzes through my body and the invisible tether between us tightens, pulling me firmly against his chest.

I open my mouth and he lets himself in. Ambrose gently pushes on my shoulder, laying me flat on the roof. His fingers work their way through my hair as he traps my body under his. Heat spreads low in my stomach and all the things that felt wrong with Brandon feel right with Ambrose.

He tears his mouth away from mine, his voice tight with restraint. “That’s what I wanted to do.”

I gulp. “What else?”

His laughter sings through the night and I smile. He sits up and entwines his fingers with mine, tilting his head toward the window. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

The moon glows bright in the room as Ambrose and I reintroduce ourselves to each other on his bed. We kiss and touch and whisper truths that we used to keep buried deep. We talk about the things we’ve missed over the years and the things we saw when we thought the other wasn’t looking. When I mention Cat, Ambrose assures me that we’ll tell her about us in the morning. Together. And when I try to extract myself from his arms to go to bed, Ambrose pulls me back into his pillows. All five times.

“Stay with me a while,” he says. “I’ll make sure you’re back in Cat’s bed before morning.”

I kiss him deeply, chuckling into his ear. “You better.” Ambrose traces shapes onto my back until we fall asleep.

But it’s not Ambrose who wakes me the next morning.

***

I’m not there when Cat dies that night. I don’t know what time it happens. I don’t know if it hurts. I don’t know if she cries out for me or if the last thing she feels in this world is my absence. I don’t know if it’s long and drawn out or as quick as falling asleep. I don’t know any of that because I’m with Ambrose.

I’m with Ambrose when the morning light infiltrates his room and I’m with him when Alima’s bloodcurdling screams pierce through Cat’s room because we’ve overslept on graduation day. I’m with Ambrose when the paramedics pump Cat’s chest for longer than the usual twenty minutes because she’s only eighteen. I’m with Ambrose when the doctors at the hospital tie the words “fall” and “brain bleed” together like two ropes in a bend knot and I’m with him when we all sink onto the cold hard floor like dominos, weeping enough to cause the eyes of the strangers around us to water. I’m with Ambrose when Alima clutches my shoulders in agony, screaming, “Where were you?”

Where was I?

Where was I?

Where. Was. I.

I was with Ambrose. And it’s because I was with Ambrose that I can never be with Ambrose ever again.

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