“You think this is my idea of fun? You think I haven’t spent the last two years chasing the high I got from creating that snowstorm for you?”
“You didn’t make that for me.”
“Of course I did! I just didn’t understand what that meant. Seeing the look on your face when you saw it, the spark in your eyes … it felt so good I literally thought my heart was gonna explode in my chest. I was young and naive and thought it’d be that way every time. With Ruby and the rowboat and Molly and the fireworks, but they all fell flat. And I couldn’t understand why none of the other girls made me feel the way you did that night. I haven’t felt that way since, until we hid behind the Christmas village and you saw snow for the first time. The missing piece was you.”
I stop breathing.
I stop breathing, because Fitz just said the thing I’ve always wanted him to say, and none of this is real.
And then I’m gasping for breath, because apparently, it is.
“I thought you were addicted to love,” I say quietly.
“I’m addicted to you, Collins. Molly didn’t want me to invite you to the cabin, but that was my deal breaker. I’ve been waiting to show you a real snowstorm for years. And it’s because I’ve been in love with you this whole time.”
I shake my head, unwilling to believe the words. “That’s not true.”
“I love you, and I think a part of me has always known I did, but I was scared.”
“You’ve never been scared of anything. Especially not love,” I accuse him.
“Look at the walls of your bedroom. It’s not exactly a secret that your number one goal is to be anywhere other than here.” His eyes soften. He passes his hand over the back of his neck, self-conscious. “I never said it out loud, but that night you bailed on our carnival date hurt like hell, Collins.”
“For me too.”
“Ever since then, it’s been hard to imagine the concept of you and me, of a world where you even want me, when all you can focus on is finding a better life.”
“I—” My heart slams into the walls of my chest. I have to act fast before paralyzing fear and an endless list of what-ifs take control. “I love you. It scares me how much I love you, because what if it doesn’t work and what if we’re not friends anymore and what if I stay in Gilbert forever and being with you means I miss my chance to leave?”
Fitz winces, his head falling.
I gulp the icy air and force out these next words, despite how foreign they feel. “But what if you’re the best thing that ever happened to me?”
He looks up, and his expression mirrors mine, eyes wide with wonder and hope. “What if I kiss you right now?”
“And what if it’s better than I imagined it would be?” I breathe in a shaky, unsteady voice.
He steps onto the ice and threads a trembling hand through my hair, his eyes glued to my lips. When his mouth presses against mine, we melt together, years of friendship paving an easy path to something more.
He pulls away with a grin. “Seventh-grade Dance Unit, when I was shorter than you and stepped all over your toes.”
“What about it?”
“Eighth-grade Spanish class, when you said ‘Estoy caliente’ instead of ‘Tengo calor,’ and your cheeks went an adorable shade of red. Ninth grade, when you ran onto the field and hugged me after our team won that extra innings game against Desert Ridge. Sophomore year, when—”
“What are you doing?” I can’t help but smile at the memories, including the horrifying time I told my Spanish class I was horny instead of saying I was hot.
“Making a list of the times I wanted to kiss you.”
Oh. His eyes burn through me, smoky enough to melt the ice beneath our feet. This time I kiss first, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him into me. I press my lips to his and am shocked by the electricity that snakes through my body.
When he eventually pulls back, his eyes are dark and wild. “Collins—” he rasps, shaking his head. “Never in my life has it been like that.”
“No kidding,” I gasp. He leans in again, and the ice cracks, soaking us in icy water up to our shins. We both shriek with surprised laughter. He takes my hand in his and pulls me to the snowy shore. “Let’s go warm up,” he says, a wicked grin on his face.
“What about Molly?”
“She left. It’s just you and me.”
“Plus your mom, and your dad, and Darcy, and Jane,” I point out.
“Don’t you get it, Collins? This trip is just the beginning of you and me.” He squeezes my hand. “So what’s it gonna be. Are you in?”
“I’m in.”
Everything hurts and I’m dying. It’s the only explanation for the screaming pain in my body. If I’m not dying, I want to be. Put me out of my misery. My eyes flutter open. I’m in a hospital bed, and the room is dark. Makes sense. That’s generally where people go to die.
Slumped in the chair next to my bed, Fitz is sleeping. He’s rumpled. Hair and clothes and the crease between his eyes. It doesn’t make sense, because I remember now: I’m in New York, and he’s in Arizona. But maybe the rules of this universe are different than I thought, and I can manifest him in front of me simply by wanting him enough. I should have tried that ages ago.
Or maybe I’m hallucinating.
My eyelids are heavy, but before I sink back to sleep, I can’t help but think that everything hurts a little bit less.
* * *
When my eyes open again, the room is lighter, and Fitz is awake.
Huh. Not a hallucination, then.
He pushes himself upright, eyes wide. “Paige! Can you hear me?”
I nod.
“Can you talk?”
“Who are you?” I ask.
He looks stricken.
“I have amnesia. Selective amnesia. Are you—are you the guy who sells subway tokens?” I crack a smile, amused by my own reference to one of Fitz’s old movies.
Fitz groans and adjusts his baseball hat. “Not funny.” He sticks out his wrist so I can see evidence of his racing heart. “I cannot believe you While You Were Sleeping-ed me.”
“Couldn’t help myself.” I grin. “Where’s my mom?”
“In the cafeteria. Wait here. Well, I guess you don’t have another choice.” His shoe slips as he races across the room, and he grabs the doorframe to stay upright. He announces to the entire hall that I’m awake and then disappears. Seconds later, the room fills with nurses, one of whom bends over me and shines a light in my eyes.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“I got hit by a taxi. What day is it?”
“December twenty-eighth. You’ve been here two days.”
“Am I dying?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I’m not. But it never hurts to double-check.
“No, sugar. You’re not dying.” She inspects the monitor next to me and strings together a bunch of medical jargon while someone else types it into a mobile computer.
“What’s wrong with me?”
“A few broken ribs, some cuts and bruises. It could have been a lot worse.”
“Paige!” Mom’s in my face, sobbing happy tears and apologizing on a loop. It takes me a while to piece together the fact that she holds herself responsible for my accident.