Page 85 of The Autumn We Fell in Love

If he wants me, I want to be his.

I need to tell him. Now, before I let another minute escape us. Before I let the fear of being wrong talk me out of it.

I inhale and slowly, working to keep my breath steady, release it. “This whole thing — being back, hurting myself — it’s made me realize something.”

He turns to face me. “What’s that?” Ash’s tone is as calm and soft as it always is. But his eyes are a different story. They’re more alight than I’ve ever seen, as if they’re stained glass windows with sun flooding through. His body is still — too still, every nerve and cell focused on what I’m about to say.

Another deep breath, and this time it’s anything but smooth when I let it go.

“Well,” I say, cringing at the crack in my voice, “it’s you. I’ve realized how much you mean to me, and how you’ve always been there. For me, for my family.” I twist at the scratchy sheets I’m sitting on, searching for the right words. “I was a fool to not see it before. I was too caught up in everything, I guess — being a pregnant teen, then taking care of Guin. But now . . . everything’s settled down enough that I can see clearly at last.”

“And what is it that you see, exactly?” His words are a growl that makes my lower abdomen turn to honey. What else can I do to make him growl at me? Heat floods over my skin as I think about the methods I could use to discover the answer.

But he’s waiting for my response. I try to ignore my warming nether region and weave the right words together.

“I see that —" I trip over my tongue, take a deep breath, and try again. “What I mean is . . . I think I’m falling in love with you, Ash. Or that I already did, long ago, and was too stupid to know it.” The words hang in the air, pendulous. I wonder if he can hear my heart crashing against my ribs.

“You’re not stupid.” He tears his gaze from mine as if it physically hurts him to do so, jaw working. “And I’ve done nothing for you that anybody else wouldn’t.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” The sudden vehemence in my words surprises even me. “When I got pregnant, through the rest of high school — you were the safest person outside of my family. When everyone else was horrible to me, or too embarrassed to be seen with me, you were there. No matter what.” My voice breaks again, and my face is wet with hot tears. “Don’t act like that meant nothing — like itwasnothing. Don’t you dare.”

He turns back away from me, staring out the hospital window. I wait, watching his neck flex as he works his jaw. Everything in me aches to go to him, to touch his neck, his hands, his chest, his everything. But my blood is racing like a startled jack rabbit at the very real possibility that he’ll turn around and tell me that I’m like a sister to him and nothing more.

I might have wounded my ankle today, but it’s not my ankle that hurts the most right now.

Ash turns. His cheeks glisten with trailing tears, too, his jaw set. My lungs refuse to take a full breath. I seem only capable of staring, unable to read his face as he crosses the room and closes the space between us. Ash rests on the edge of the hospital bed. He takes my hand in two of his, thumbs trailing the peaks and valleys of my knuckles. His steel-colored eyes find mine, and I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. Which I don’t.

“Isla.” It’s a complete sentence when he says it, and the sound of the twin syllables of my name on his lips makes my quiet crying turn to sobs.

Because when he says my name, I know.

I know.

That I wasn’t imagining the heat between us.

That this is the end of lying to myself about how important this man is to me.

That this is the beginning ofus.

“Isla,” he says again, voice husky. “I cannot tell you how much I’ve hoped you’d come to feel about me the way I have always felt about you — and how much I feared you never would.”

“You mean —?” I say, but I can’t finish before Ash flashes a wolfish smile.

“Yes. I mean that, if you want me, I’m all yours.”

Ash

Tears trail down my cheeks and it is suddenly difficult to take a full breath. Is this really happening? Late at night in an emergency room, with Isla hurt who knows how badly? Everything I’ve ever ached for is suddenly becoming more than a faint glimmering hope. The beauty of that fact paired with the stark reality of our circumstances is jarring — and ridiculous.

I can’t help it. I start to laugh.

At first it’s just a snort, but a moment later my hands are on my knees and I’m laughing harder than I have in months.

Isla stares at me with eyes as wide as the full moon. Shit. I’ve scared her.

“I’m not laughing at you,” I say, swallowing my mirth. “Just at —“ I wave my hand “— all this. My dreams coming true while you’re laid up in the hospital. Life is strange.”

Now it’s her turn to snort. “Don’t I know it. Life can be great, or a big bucket of shit.”

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