I stare at his features reflected in the low lights off the dash. It’s not possible to imagine a reality where I can’t see him every day.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” His hands grip the steering wheel hard, fixed. “I think it’s easier if we end this before it’s too late, before it’s too hard.”
Oh god. I struggle to get breath. End? He passes the grocery store that is fully dark now except for one spotlight above the automatic doors.
“Pull over.” I point. “There.” Alec looks at me sideways, but he maneuvers the car to the front of brick office suites, cuts the engine.
I pull the envelope from my bag and hand it to him.
I watch as he reads the destination address of the college. “Are you trying to make this harder for me?” His voice shakes.
“I would never.”
“Then why—”
“I can’t go.” My words surprise me even though the ink is dry. “You were right. All that stuff you said about how you’d make a different choice if you could. Well, I can. I did.” I point to the envelope. “I declined their offer. I don’t want a future without you. I can’t imagine it. I want you.” I signal to the blue postal box a few feet from where we’ve parked. “Will you drop it in the mail with me?”
He leans close to me, filling my field of vision. “Are you sure?”
“I am.”
A weighty gasp of relief escapes his lips just before he grabs my hand, kisses my palm. We scurry into the outside air, run to the mailbox. I grab the metal handle and the box yawns open. He hovers the letter over the black void.
“You’re sure-sure?”
“Sure-sure.” I have never been so sure.
Alec drops the envelope. I think I hear the faint rustle of paper as it hits the bottom. That small, impossibly slight sound speaks volumes.
Alec hugs me hard, kisses me harder. I smile and laugh, feeling a wave of recklessness and determination that seems long overdue. He walks me to the car, pushes me against the side. “I want you. Here. Now.” His words are breathy and hot.
“You have me.” His hand flies under the hem of my dress, yanks it over my hips. My breath hitches as I scan the parking lot. “Won’t someone see us?”
“I fucking hope so.” His words thick. Dangerous. “They’ll see what they don’t have, what they’ll never have.” I am liquid under his touch and he moves harder, deeper. My body melts.
My fingers scratch into his neck, feverishly pulling him closer. I feel the door open behind me and we fold into the car, stretching across the back seat. He raises his fingers to my face and traces the line of my bottom lip. “You are mine, Zephyr Doyle.”
His words are a frightening and precious brand. A promise.
His lips fill my ears with thank yous and I love yous and I would have done the same for yous. I can’t believe for a minute I questioned making a different choice.
We connect in our practiced dance, but this time things are different. Our bond is deeper. Something I could not have dreamed possible even yesterday.
And I understand what Alec means when he talks about sacrificing for someone you love, really love. How it proves your feelings in an exponential, inarguable way. In a way that words never could.
I just had no idea sacrifice could feel so good.
Chapter 26
A blue curbside mailbox—its mouth hinging open and swallowing up my certainty—is the new symbol of love. The world can have its paper hearts and glitter. I have my signature in ink, my future with Alec. And there is an atmosphere of difference between the me of yesterday and the me that has committed to a boyfriend in the way that I have. In this new reality, there is no rainfall, no doubt, only me and Alec and my deepest heart.
This push into a new world somehow manages to make even the jungle-like Sudbury High cafeteria less annoying. Like I’m physically here with Lizzie while the best part of me remains with Alec.
Maybe my spanning two worlds is the reason I don’t see Gregg until he twists one of the chairs at our table, straddles it backward.
“What up, Five? Dizzy Lizzie?” Gregg scores an orange slice from Lizzie, pops it in his mouth as he tosses her a shiny wink.
“Noggin looks good,” Lizzie says.
“Yeah, are you sure you even had a concussion?” I say.
Gregg taps on his head. “Nothing to slow me down.”
“Can you play hockey?” Lizzie. Her finger forever on the newsbeat pulse.
“Verdict’s still out, but I’ll work my charms.”
If anyone can charm doctors despite their infallible X-rays, it’s Gregg.
Gregg raises his chin to a kid walking past, his signature silent hello. It strikes me as strange how I know all Gregg’s gestures. Can you even unknow something? Someone?