Adam's List(72)

Why couldn’t this be happening later on the trip, after we’ve visited Hawaii and enjoyed endless nights of wild sex and carefree moments? I’m not ready for this.

Adam whirls around, as if sensing my withdrawal, and tips his head.

My feet move toward him, though my heart cries for me to stop. We meet in the middle, my shins pressed against the couch. Adam reaches down for my hands, the intensity in his eyes stopping my breath.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, fat tears blurring my vision. “I don’t...it’s just...I didn’t mean to hurt you. What you saw last night...that was me confused and afraid.”

He looks ready to say something, ready to damn me or tell me everything’s somehow miraculously okay, but he suddenly drops my hands to cradle my face, rushing in to cover my mouth with a long, sultry kiss.

I whimper against his mouth, bringing my arms around him and squeezing tight, resolving never to push him away ever again. Promising myself that I’ll open my heart to him from this point on, allowing him to become my everything despite my fears, despite the fact I still don’t know what’s wrong with him or why he’s reluctant to let me in.

The force of his lips about bring me to my knees as they suck and bend, his tongue eager and unyielding in between. I answer him with languid passion, wanting the moment to last forever, wanting the hard words I know are sure to come to stay deep down inside where they won’t change us. The taste of my tears mix in with the sweet flavor of cinnamon and the familiarity of Adam.

His hands find their usual place underneath the sides of my shirt, caressing the skin above my hips, driving me mad for more. I pounce into his arms, propelling us back into the big squishy couch. As I straddle him, his kisses trail down my neck. I run my lips along the spot behind his ear, holding back my cries of angst and words of destruction. I break past his hold, reaching for his shirt, ready to jerk it over his arms.

“Wait!” he yells, trying to fight against me.

But it’s too late.

I discover the reason he never removes his shirt, the reason he avoids letting me touch him.

Pink, puckering scars circle around his navel. A larger one starts near his breast bone, stretching all the way down beneath his boxers. Some of the scars have faded, some are darker red as if from more recent times. Numerous procedures mar his beautiful belly, although hardened and defined from obvious dedication to the gym. It looks as if he’s been to the butcher shop. When I run my fingertips along the ugly scars, he winces.

“Is this your secret?” I ask in a mere whisper. “Is this what you don’t want me to know? What happened?”

There’s shame in Adam’s eyes when he nudges me from his lap and turns away, running his hands through his hair. “This trip was supposed to be fun, without all these complications,” he mutters, as if talking to himself and not me. His hands are still locked behind his head as he stares at the floor. “You were so hot, and funny, and full of this unbridled energy. I wanted to be around you as much as I could. You made me forget all the shitty things in my life. I didn’t know I’d fall so hard for you. I never should’ve let this happen.”

He sniffs, his shoulders trembling.

Is he crying?

I debate whether or not to stroke his back, and tell him whatever it is, everything’s going to be okay. Because it obviously won’t be, not ever again. Still, my heart stutters wildly in my chest. He “fell hard” for me. It wasn’t all imagined on my part. Half disturbed by whatever is still bothering him, and half thrilled that we may have a chance after all, I fight off a confused smile.

“Hey.” I reach for him, but decide against it, folding my hands in my lap instead. “Will you please tell me why you have so many scars?”

Still looking down, he rambles on to himself. “Try to understand why I did this, why I invited you to come along. I promised Zach I would try. Right before he died, I told him I’d go out without any regrets.”

“Go out?” I repeat, warding off a chill. In the past week he’s talked more about his best friend’s death, how it was slow and painful for him in the end. But what does Zach’s death have to do with us? I frown, shaking my head. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m sick, Jewels. This list...the need to get out and do these things, it’s because I’m dying.”

THIRTEEN

Somewhere back in the dark corners of my mind, I knew this moment was coming, although I tried to pretend it wasn’t real. I kept telling myself the weight loss and extreme exhaustion were only my imagination. I purposely denied myself the masochist thoughts that would bring our little fantasy world crashing down. But I never once guessed that he was actually close to death.