Barely Breathing (The Breathing #2)(120)

"And I would absolutely not be the same person if you never existed." I lifted my head and remained still with anticipation. "We can contemplate the meaning of your life all you want, but know that you're my meaning... the reason behind just about everything I do―and I would never want to change that." A smile stretched across my face and a warm current rushed through my body. My chest swelled with love. I leaned up and kissed him gently.

"What about your father?" I prompted when I pulled away.

Evan produced a wry smile and said, "You don't have to worry about me and my father. My mother will never let him take Stanford, or you, away from me. He raised me to be the person I am today, so now he just has to let go and allow me be that person. This decision is mine, and he will have to learn to live with it." Evan's voice was strong but calm, not filled with the resentment or frustration I imagined he'd express when speaking of his father. I admired his maturity and constraint.

"So," he stated with a grin, "do you feel better about existing?" 

"Yes," I emphasized with a coy roll of my eyes. "You have a way of making a girl feel... significant."

"Good," Evan smiled and leaned over to kiss me. His words calmed me, and made the storm in my head lull to a hum. I was still troubled by everything I'd learned earlier in the day, but I knew being here with Evan was one place I belonged.

I spread out on my back, resting my head on his leg and closing my eyes to absorb the sun. "I like it here."

"Me too," Evan returned, playing with my hair. "The sun looks good on you."

I continued to lie on his lap, listening to the rush of the water beside us. The sun's warmth brushing against my face and his gentle touch made my skin hum with a delicate shiver. I wish I could've captured that moment and kept it safe in my pocket to experience whenever I wanted.

"I was told once that a girl needs time to prepare. So, Emma Thomas, would you like to go to prom with me?"

I sat up and gawked at him, my mouth open in a shocked smile. "It's... omigod, it's next month, isn't it?" He nodded. "Yes, Evan Mathews. I would love to go to prom with you." Then I muttered in dread, "Oh, no. That means I have to get a dress, doesn't it?"

"Or you could go nude. I hear that's the new pink," Evan smirked. I laughed.

"You would love that, wouldn't you?" I teased. "Oh, wait. Promise we won't have sex on prom night." Evan's eyes widened. "We can't be the couple who has sex on prom night." The thought of it made me cringe. That was absolutely not how I wanted to remember our first time. It was a bad movie in the making.

"We won't have sex on prom night," Evan promised, pursing his lips to keep from smiling. "How about the night before?"

"What? Really?" I studied his face, and he raised his eyebrows to indicate he was actually proposing the idea. "Are you serious about planning it?"

"Why not? The spontaneous thing isn't working out too well for us. We might as well set a date."

"Then, yes, I will have sex with you the night before prom," I vowed, sounding comically serious, "It's a sex date."

Evan laughed. "Can't wait." He leaned in and captured my breath with the touch of his lips.



When I arrived home, Rachel was just getting out of her car. It felt strange to call her that, Rachel. I let the word repeat in my head. That's what she'd wanted me to call her all along. And that's how Charles had referred to her. When he spoke of my parents, he said your father and Rachel. He never once called her my mother. I don't think that was an accident.

"How was dinner?" she asked, waiting for me before entering the house.

"It was nice," I replied. "Exactly what I needed."

"Good," she responded, looking a little confused by my answer.

"Did you eat?" We flipped on the lights in the foyer and the living room.

"We ordered take-out at the office."

She kicked off her heels and pulled her blouse out of her dress pants. I watched to see if she'd get a glass of wine from the kitchen like she usually did, but she didn't. Instead, she sat next to me on the couch and flipped on the television.

The whirlwind of thoughts in my head overtook me, and the next thing I knew I was asking, "Where are you from?" I kept my eyes on the channels as they flashed before me.

"What?" she asked, still continuing through the programs, obviously not expecting my question.

I had the opportunity to take it back, to not pry any further. But I decided I wanted to know. "Where did you grow up?"

She stopped, landing on a fishing program. I knew she didn't mean to do that, so she must have heard me this time. I turned toward her and she was looking at me like she didn't know me. I was prepared for her not to respond.