I want to keep going but I don’t think I can. I don’t think I should even be touching her after confessing how petty, how small I’ve become in her love. But I can’t seem to let her go, either.
Seconds pass as she studies me and then in a soft voice, she asks, “Y—you told Brad to stay away from me?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why he backed out of our date just an hour into prom? Because you threatened him?”
Regret burns every inch of me. It was my lowest moment, threatening a sixteen-year-old boy because I was in love with his girlfriend. But I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t see Fallon wearing a girly pink dress, all made up and stunning, going on a date with someone who didn’t deserve her. Not that I did, either. But I couldn’t… stop. I didn’t know how to stop.
“Yes,” I repeat.
“I—I didn’t know. I didn’t know you threatened him…” She swallows, looking at me with new eyes.
She’ll probably hate me now. Probably regret her confession from last night.
“I cried when he just left me there. I called you to come get me,” she continues, as if remembering that night. “I kept crying in your arms. I thought there was something wrong with me.”
I want to hang my head, drop down to my knees and ask for her forgiveness. But I pull up whatever strength I have and keep holding onto her.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I tell her with as much love as I can muster, as much anger as I can muster on her behalf. “He didn’t deserve you.”
No one deserves my Fallon, least of all me. When I said she inspires me, I wasn’t lying. I’ve seen her at her lowest and I’ve seen her pull herself out of it, too. Her strength, her will to fight keeps me going, gives me the will to fight, to be better.
“What about you? Do you deserve me?”
A short laugh bursts out of me at her question. “Fuck, no. That’s why I moved away. Because I’m so crazy in love with you that I threatened a high school boy just because he was your prom date.”
She grips my shirt harder. “Y—you are in love with me?”
My heart thuds loudly in my chest. “It doesn’t matter. It’s wrong.”
So far I’ve been pushing my body over hers, trying to consume her like she consumes me. But now, she’s pushing back. She’s molding her body against mine. “What’s so wrong about it?”
“I’m too old for you.”
“So?”
“I don’t have time for love. I have my job. My cases. I can’t ignore them.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“One day you’re going to find someone your own age, someone who isn’t jaded, isn’t a workaholic control freak like me and you’ll…”
“I’ll what?”
A pressure forms in the vicinity of my heart as I say, “You won’t love me anymore.”
She lets go of my shirt and snakes her arms up and around my neck. Her fingers sink into my hair and I almost groan out loud. I don’t know where she learned to do that, play with my hair like that and rake her nails up and down my scalp, but Jesus Christ, it relaxes me and makes me hard at the same time.
“Maybe,” she whispers. “And maybe one day, I’ll have a major depressive episode like my mom did. Maybe my meds won’t work for me anymore. Maybe I’ll try to… to end my life. And then, you’ll leave me because I have epic issues.”
I bow my head, taking up all her personal space. “I’ll never leave you. Do you hear me, Fallon? Not a chance in this lifetime.”
“That’s what I’m asking for, Dean.” She smiles slightly.
“What?”
“A chance. To be together. To love each other. There are a million things that could go wrong but I don’t want them to stop us. I don’t want anything to stop us from trying to be together. Maybe we’re the exception, you know? Maybe we’re the miracle, you and me.”
“You and me, huh?”
Blinking her teary eyes, she nods. “Yes. Be my miracle, Dean. And let me be yours. Please?”
Nothing matters when Fallon is looking at me with wide, almost silver eyes. When I’m breathing the same air as her. When all I want to do is cover her with my body and protect her from everything bad out there, even her own mind.
It doesn’t matter how many ways this can go wrong and how different we are from each other. I’m too old for her and her dad will probably never agree to us being together.
None of it matters because my love for her is stronger, unstoppable. I’ve tried purging it, but that hasn’t worked.
Perhaps I should try embracing it and see where it goes. Maybe I should try to be her miracle and let her be mine. Because the alternative—a life without her—hasn’t worked for me.
“Dean?”
Swallowing, I whisper, “I love you,” before I cover her mouth with mine.
Is this real?
Is this really happening? Is Dean really kissing me?
Oh God, please let this be real.
His mouth is warm and wet. And thorough. I feel it everywhere. In each and every part of my body. In my toes, even.
I’ve been kissed before. Brad, my high school boyfriend, kissed me a few times but that was nothing compared to this. This epic consuming of my mouth by another human being. It’s like his kiss is my entire world.
If Dean stops kissing me, I’ll die. I’ll burn.
It’s like he told me. Love is a burn. It’s an explosion, and with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, his taste—citrusy and masculine—the way he’s holding me, all tight and almost aggressively, he’s showing me that.
I kiss him back with all the pent-up emotions of the past two years. I’ve been dreaming about this ever since he left me at the airport and said goodbye. I’ve pictured his lips over mine countless times.
But I didn’t imagine this. I didn’t even know how to imagine this.
His grip in my hair, my breasts flattened against his wildly breathing chest. His mouth slamming into mine as he groans like he’s dying. His hot skin, soft hair and rough mouth.
When we break apart for air, my hands are tugging at his shirt at the shoulder and one of my legs is wrapped around his hips.
“I—I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time,” I admit to his glistening lips.
“Not as long as I have,” he says.
I creep my hand up and tug at his hair. “I should be mad at you.”
He swallows. “Yeah.”
“I can’t believe you scared away my date, Dean. And then, you just… left.”
I should be angrier about this. Him threatening away my boyfriend—though later I realized I didn’t love him anyway—and up and leaving for California a month later. Not to mention the things he said to me last night when I told him I loved him. But weirdly, anger is the last thing on my mind.