Page 331 of The Long Way Home

He holds the wheel tighter. Can hear him breathing. He nods.

Press my hands into my eyes.

“If I lose her, Hen—” I choke. Stare out the window.

“You won’t.”

My mind waterboards me with memories of her.

Our first kiss on holidays, how she smelt like coconuts. Her coming down those stairs at Holland Park for our first date. Slow dancing to Billie Holiday. Her blushing cheeks and her wide eyes on mine the first time I got changed in front of her. The way she looks at me when I’m driving her places. The first time I snuck her up into my room at school, Jonah went for a walk to give us some space — tripped, dislocated his knee — went missing for hours. Barely cared though, because I touched her boobs for the first time. Took her top off for the first time that night too — lit a fire in me. Our tree. Her at my rugby games in my hoodies on the sidelines. How her face goes in the morning. Undoing the buttons of her school uniform, her watching me with round eyes swallowing heavy, still as a statue, breathing all quick. All the bread in her hands on our first date.

Back in the car my eyes can’t see through the tears.

Remember all of it, I tell myself. Her hand in my hair. How she smelt before. How she smells now. Her lips on my skin. Her little trembling body wrapped around mine under the stairs at Varley. Wrapping myself around her body that trembled differently that December 3rd that I hate and love all at once, and whatever happens I know I’m lucky to have had her.

To have gotten to love her how I have.

I wish I was better at it. Wish I could do it again, that I had more time. I’d change everything and nothing.

Where the fuck is that time machine when you need it? I’d fly to New York, bring her home with me.

Henry swerves in and out of cars, speeding up. Looks nervous. He’s never nervous. That makes me nervous.

We’re there in under twenty minutes. Record time for this time of day.

Hen pulls in and I barrel out of the car and into emergency.

“Parks—” I bang on the desk to get the woman’s attention. “Magnolia Parks.”

She stares at me for a few seconds. Weird look. I can’t tell whether she recognises me or she’s about to give me bad news.

“Just got out of surgery.” She nods. “Room 305.”

I can’t get to her fast enough. Bolt to the lift. Push the up button forty times. Bustle past a slow-moving pregnant woman to run down the hall. Burst through the door.

Bridget looks up from the chair in the corner of the room, gives me a tired smile and I think I breathe for the first time since I left my place.

“How is she?” I walk over to Parks.

Asleep on her bed.

Bridget gingerly nods. “Okay.”

Touch Magnolia’s face. A few stitches on her left cheek. Some bruising around that eye too.

I shake my head at the idea of something hurting her.

Run my thumb over her mouth. Breathe out some relief that she’s still here.

“She had surgery?” I ask without looking away from her.

“Shattered her collarbone,” Bridget tells me.

Fuck.

I look back at her. “Are you okay?”

She nods.

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