Page 84 of The Autumn We Fell in Love

At least, going to hell more than they already have tonight. We’re ending the day in an emergency room, after all. It hasn’t exactly been an idyllic evening.

Still, I’d rather be here, with Isla, than anywhere else.

The realization that I had earlier only intensifies with each passing moment — I need to tell Isla what she means to me. I can’t let her leave without telling her how I feel. I’d regret it until the end of my days. I refuse to live with that. I have to try. Telling her and then hearing a rejection would hurt, but it’d be better than never saying a word and never knowing either way.

I have to tell her.

I’m going to tell her.

When the events of this evening have settled. She’s got more pressing concerns at the moment. I do not intend to hijack her attention for something that seems so insignificant in comparison.

The woman leads me past a bustling nurse’s station into a wide, white room with a row of beds partitioned by pale green curtains. She gestures to one that’s closed and pulls it back enough for me to see Isla, reclined in a hospital bed. A single window looks out, uncovered, into the night.

She’s asleep, her hair mussed with bits of forest refuse still stuck in its strands. Her eye makeup streaks messily around her eyes, and her skin is pale and lackluster.

My heart leaps at the sight of her — with worry, but mostly with love. I want to curl up in the bed and use the warmth of my body to protect her from the sterile chill of the hospital.

“Poor thing, it’s only been a minute since she asked for you,” the nurse says. “So tuckered out.

“She has good reason to be exhausted,” I say with a shrug. “Is it okay to sit with her, though? While she sleeps?”

“Of course.” The nurse steps out of the room and returns with a petite arm chair upholstered with plasticine faux leather the same color as the curtains. She sets it down next to Isla’s bed. “There you go. The doctor should be in before too long.”

I nod. “Thanks.” I settle into the chair while the nurse steps away and slides the curtain closed.

My eyes rove Isla’s face. It’s strange, to have complete freedom to observe her without fear of being noticed. I try to shake that sense that I’m an intruder —she wanted you here, I remind myself.

I study her. Lines that she didn’t have before she left Edgewood spiderweb from the corners of her eyes and also, less noticeably, across her forehead. Her hands are strong, capable, but also weathered. I try to imagine her in her own life — writer, single mom. All the household work falls to her, all the teacher conferences and sports games and plays and god knows what else. Those hands are worn from the weight of two lives borne by one.

I wonder if there’s room for me in that life. If I’d be willing to leave Edgewood and my father’s garage for Isla and Guin.

A chuckle escapes my lips. I don’t have to wonder long on the latter. If Isla wants me, I’ll do what it takes to make that work. It might actually be good for me to get out of Edgewood, to live somewhere other than my childhood hometown.

The sound of my quiet laughter is enough to wake Isla. She stirs, blinking blearily as she takes a deep breath. Her gaze travels the room and I can see her coming back to reality, remembering where she is and why.

And then her eyes find mine. It feels like we lock into each other, fitting just right. It makes my heart run hurdles, and my brain — and other parts — want to explore how else we might fit together.

I shiver with surprise when the thought makes me harden. I tear my gaze away, standing and stalking to the window, trying to get control of myself.

“Hey.” Her voice rasps with fatigue. “Did the doctor come in?”

I shake my head without turning around. “No, you were only asleep for a few minutes.”

“Ash?” There’s a question in her voice, and an invitation. I stay facing the window. I know that if I turn around, if I face her, I’ll say something out of line for our present circumstances. It takes work to stay where I am though. Everything in me aches to go to her, take her in my arms, and hold her until she’s healed.

But I won’t. Because not only are the time and place inappropriate, but I think I might lose her forever if I do.

I’ll tell her how I feel — but when the time is right. And this damn sure is not it.

Isla

“Ash?” I don’t mean for it to, but when his name leaves my lips, it’s something between a prayer and a pleading. Even though I’d only slept a few moments, I’d been dreaming. In it, I was still in the hospital with a busted ankle, waiting for Ash. But when he’d come in, dream Ash had crawled onto the hospital bed and cradled me in his arms, tangling his legs with my good one. And it had felt so damn perfect. Waking to him standing so far from me made my skin prickle and burn with the absence of him.

I know I should focus on my injury, on waiting to hear the results of my x-rays.

But I can’t. An urgency ticks in my gut. I’ve already wasted so much time — years of it. Years of being afraid, of healing on my own from the hurts of high school.

I don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t want to be apart from Ash anymore.

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